


The Closet Door Ajar

by afreezingnote



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Croatoan/Endverse, Biphobia, Bisexual Male Character, Demon Dean Winchester, Explicit Sexual Content, Homophobia, Human Castiel, Internalized Homophobia, John Winchester's Bad Parenting, M/M, Post-Season/Series 09, Pre-Series, Purgatory, Season/Series 01-Season/Series 09, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-19
Updated: 2016-01-10
Packaged: 2018-01-09 07:20:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 21,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1143121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afreezingnote/pseuds/afreezingnote
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This began pre-series as an exploration focusing on moments from Dean's perspective indicative of his sexuality, but it has since grown.  Canon divergent from the season 9 finale.  Specific notes and warnings are given at the beginning of each chapter.  Teaser from chapter 5:</p><p>He’d just polished off his beer as Sam set a steaming mug in front of him that smelled vaguely flowery.  He frowned at it.  “What is this?” Dean asked.</p><p>“It’s jasmine tea.  I don’t know so much about the Cowboy Junkies, but we’re talking this out.”</p><p>“Sam--” Dean started, but Sam interrupted.  </p><p>“Look, Dean, I know, okay? So, you don't have to pretend.”</p><p>“What are you talking about?”</p><p>“I know you love Cas.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't have much appreciation for John Winchester, so if you thought he was a good father, you probably shouldn't read this. The homophobia/biphobia is mild compared to many fics I've read. John's rejection is mostly cold shoulder-level, but that doesn't stop it from hurting Dean or reinforcing his internalized homophobia and effemaphobia.
> 
> This will eventually include Dean/Cas.
> 
> There are mentions of Dean's sexual adventures with Rhonda Hurley, so if that's a deal breaker for anyone, you should know about that too.
> 
> I haven't had a second pair of eyes on this yet, so any mistakes are my own.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Dad decided I should hunt alone for a while.”
> 
> “What’s his problem this time?” Bobby asked.
> 
> “Saw me come out of a hotel room. Couple waved goodbye from the door. He, uh, he asked about it later. Took me to a bar and sprung it on me. ‘Whateryou doing in a room with another guy?’ Told him I fucked 'em both. Too drunk. Stupid.”

“Boy, what are you doing here at 2 AM?  I hear Rumsfeld barking his head off, and I don’t know what’s going on.  I almost shot you.”

Bobby clapped his hand against Dean’s shoulder as he took a lurching step forward.  Dean swung a bottle of mostly empty Jim Beam around before slurring, “Dad decided I should hunt alone for a while.”

“What’s his problem this time?” Bobby asked.

“Saw me come out of a hotel room.  Couple waved goodbye from the door.  He, uh, he asked about it later.  Took me to a bar and sprung it on me.   _‘Whateryou doing in a room with another guy?’_  Told him I fucked 'em both.  Too drunk.  Stupid.”

“Get inside, you fool boy,” Bobby said, opening the door and slinging Dean’s arm around his shoulders.

After he deposited Dean on the couch, Dean sat up and rubbed his face.  “Fuck, Bobby, he knows.  What am I gonna do?”

“You’re gonna go to sleep, and we’ll talk about it in the morning.”

“Man, he was pissed.  Wonder what he’d do if I told him about Rhonda.”

“Dean, you shut up and go to sleep.  That’s a story I’m sure you don’t want to tell me, and I know I don’t want to hear it.”

“Yeah, okay Bobby.  Night.”

Dean collapsed back on the couch, stretching out from armrest to armrest, and was asleep almost instantly.  Bobby pulled off his boots and tossed a blanket over him.

He sighed and on the exhalation a tired but fond _“Idjit”_ slipped out. 

…

In the morning, while Dean was still snoring the sleep of the magnificently drunk, Bobby made a phone call.  It went like this:

“I’ve got your boy here.”

“So that’s where he got off to.”

“He tells me you found out something about him that he aimed to keep from you.”

“That he fucks men?  Yeah, I found out about that.”

“You gonna have a problem?”

“Bobby, you know I don’t like you telling me how to raise my boys--”

“I’m tellin’ you you ain’t gonna have no boys to raise if you don’t listen to me, John Winchester.  What Dean likes in bed doesn’t make him any less a hunter or less a man.  Now that boy needs his daddy, and if you won’t be there for him, so God help me, I will.”

Silence met him from the other line.  After a heavy moment, Bobby said, “Do you understand me, John?”

“Yeah.  I don’t like it.”

“You don’t have to like it, but you gotta deal with it.  He’s your son no matter what.  I know you forget that, but it’s the most important thing.   _He is still your son._  And you better love him like he deserves.”

“Yeah, okay.  Look, I gotta go.  I’ve got an appointment with a witness.”

“Sure thing.”

Bobby didn’t stay on the phone long enough to hear if John had anything else to say. 

…

Dean’s footsteps thundered on the stairs, making himself groan from the noise.  Bobby met him at the table with coffee, breakfast, and a bottle of aspirin.  Dean mumbled his thanks and Bobby sat across from him, wrapping his hands around his second mug of coffee.

“So what do you remember from last night?” Bobby asked.

“Got in a fight with dad, and I came here.”

“You remember what you fought about?”

Dean’s cheeks colored and he toyed with a piece of egg with his fork, decidedly not looking up.

“I’ll take that as a yes.  How about what you told me?”

“I don’t know, Bobby.  I remember getting here and you aiming a shotgun at me through the door.  That’s about all I’ve got.”

Bobby sighed and leaned back, leaving one hand loosely hanging on the mug handle.  “You said he caught you leaving a threesome with only one girl involved and that your drunk ass told him that you, as you so eloquently put it, ‘fucked them both.’”

“Shit,” Dean said.

“You started to tell me a story about someone named Rhonda--”

Dean sputtered on a sip of coffee, sat up, eyes wide, and whispered, “Fuck fuck fuck…”

“--but I got you to sleep before you spilt anything.”

“Oh, thank God,” Dean said, slumping back in his chair.

“So the cat’s out of the bag.”

“Dad’s gonna kill me.”  Dean sighed a stream of curses under his breath.  “Are you mad?”

“Why would I be mad?”

“Because I’m queer.”

“ _Dean_ ,” Bobby scolded.  “You may not remember, but I’m the one who caught you kissing that boy from down the road.  You musta been 12 or something.  You begged me not to tell John, and I never did.  Have I ever treated you different?”

“No, but--”

“So what makes you think I care who you sleep with?”

“I dunno.”

“Well, I don’t, you fool boy.”

“Oh.  Uh, good.”

 …

 When Dean saw John again, he expected to get a talking to.  He was ready to hear _“I’m disappointed.”_  He hoped for _“I’m not happy, but it’s your life.”_  He didn’t even contemplate getting _“I’ve thought about it, and it doesn’t matter.”_

But John didn’t say a word.  He started talking shop like they’d never missed a beat.   _That’s fine_ , Dean thought, _we can pretend it didn’t happen._  But it changed things in small ways.

They were at a bar again after ganking a ghost when John noticed Dean’s eyes catch on a guy and linger.  The man leveled his gaze on Dean and held the look into the realm of flirtation.  The man winked.  To John’s surprise, he noted the man was in uniform.  Dean broke the eye contact between them and looked at the table, ashamed.  John knew he put that expression on his son’s face, but he thought, _What am I supposed to do, say, “Go get ‘em, tiger” and send him on his way?_  He stood up and said, “I’m going to clean up the hotel room.” 

…

A few months later, the same thing happened in a diner when Dean was on a hunt with Bobby.  Bobby didn’t stare when he saw Dean check out the guy.  He took one last swig of his drink and said, “I think I’ll go check this exorcism a buddy of mine found, see if it came from a good source.  Might be we’re looking at a demon here.”  As he got up to leave he said, “Go get ‘em, tiger.”

Dean blushed, but he laughed.  “Later, Bobby.”

That night, Dean learned that he enjoys the pulse of a thick cock inside him as much as he liked Rhonda Hurley fucking him with a strap-on matching the pink of the panties that had still been wrapped around one of his ankles.  Maybe he liked it even more if the thin stream of precome that leaked out of him as the guy from the diner thrusted in him and the way he moaned and shook through his orgasm was any indication. 

…

When John went missing and Sam started travelling with him again, Dean stopped picking up guys and fell back into the hypermasculine scharade he’d put on for years.  It wasn’t that he thought Sam would react like dad had.  In fact, Sam would probably be supportive, more so than Dean would want.  He had to admit he was scared of what John’s total silence meant, and if it did mean that he was… Well, no matter what it meant, Dean was going to try to be the hunter his father had wanted him to be.

During the search for John and the hunts they picked up along the way, Sam and Dean ended up talking about things Dean would rather let lie: John’s expectations and disappointments.  He tried to tell his brother that John hadn’t considered Sam the disappointing son, but he couldn’t give Sam reasons for John’s disappointment in him.

If Sam noticed the tension between Dean and John when they ran into each other on the vampire hunt in Colorado, he didn’t mention it.  And soon afterward there was no time for anything but focusing on tracking the yellow-eyed demon.  Then the accident, being a spirit, talking to a reaper, waking up for real, an apology. 

_I just want you to know that I’m so proud of you._

And Dean knew there had to be something wrong because why would John ever tell him this now?  But then John whispered the worst thing Dean could ever imagine.

The next time he saw his father, John was dead.

…

As grief faded with time measured by hunts, Dean found John’s last words weren’t the only secret he couldn’t hide from Sam.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "As far as Dean could tell, the first time he’d acted obviously un-heterosexual in front of Sam was when he caught ghost sickness."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spans seasons 2-4. This chapter didn't end where I meant it to because it got a little bit away from me. It might take another chapter or two to get where I thought this one would end, but that's okay. I didn't want to delay an update too long either.
> 
> This installment includes Victor (mostly Jus in Bello, 3.12), Linus (Yellow Fever, 4.6), and the siren (Sex and Violence, 4.14). Of course, Castiel enters as well.

People had been mistaking Sam and Dean for a couple since Dean showed up at Stanford to ask for Sam’s help looking for John.  Sometimes Dean rolled with it.  It was easier to make a joke than protest, but sometimes it got to him.  He tried so hard to fit into the social scripts that would leave no questions about his masculinity, and he felt like the mask he crafted should be a seamless, LOTR-ian prosthetic fit.  But the comments kept coming.

When they checked out the haunted inn in Connecticut, his composure cracked.  The assumption from the owner was one thing but the porter too?  So, he asked Sam about it, couching the question in scorn.

_“Of course, the most troubling question is why do these people assume we're gay?”_

_“Well, you are kind of butch. They probably think you're overcompensating.”_

Sam’s answer made his face pinch and killed any witticism that might have sprung from his lips because he wasn’t sure if Sam was making fun of him or being serious.  He was afraid to ask.

…

Remarks from strangers aside, Dean managed to squash his sexuality.  A few guys might turn his head from time to time, but he was perfectly satisfied with seeking pleasure solely from women until he met Victor.

Victor was Dean’s type to a T.  The agent was simply attractive, but the uniform added a whole other level.  The chase and the authority figure thing got Dean a lot hotter than he’d like to admit too.  When Victor figured out the Winchesters weren’t lying about monsters, Dean got to know he was also a good person.  Victor was brave, confident, calm, and dedicated.  In the face of the unknown, he stood firm, his only regret that he couldn’t have devoted his life to having a greater impact against the supernatural earlier.  Dean was damn impressed.  He didn’t think Victor would be into, but he had half a mind to ask him for out for a drink with the hint of an invitation back to his hotel room anyway, provided they could get out of the county sheriff’s office alive.

The deaths of Victor, Nancy, and Phil were wasteful, a rookie mistake.  Part of Dean knew it was stupid, but he couldn’t help thinking it had happened because his interest in Victor had distracted him.  The only upside was that Sam seemed not to have noticed anything out of the ordinary at all.  Soon enough the fear of hell consumed every other feeling.

…

The sensation of hellhounds ripping apart his flesh was a frantic, percussive clash of pain that transformed into a cacophony of agony.  Alastair’s blade made a magnificent din. Every night that cloying voice would herald the leitmotif, the offer:   _I’ll put down my blade if you pick one up._

It was repetitive but too sharp to become boring until, one day, everything changed. Instead of answering with _Stick it where the sun don’t shine_ , Dean said, “Sign me up.”

With a razor in hand, Dean taught hell the sound of symphonies.  

When the white light came, enveloping Dean, the most remarkable thing was the exquisite silence it brought with it.

…

After he clawed his way out of his grave, he knew the being that raised him had some serious mojo, power the likes of which he had never seen.  He didn’t expect the stiff-backed creature wearing the tan trenchcoat with the arresting blue eyes to say it was an angel.  He was even less ready for it to be the truth.

Dean couldn’t know it yet, but there was no way to prepare for Castiel.

…

As far as Dean could tell, the first time he’d acted obviously un-heterosexual in front of Sam was when he caught ghost sickness.  He didn’t like to acknowledge his fears outside the deep recesses of his mind.  The infection exacerbated even his slightest anxieties until they were overwhelming, driving him to drink to take the edge off.  By the time they got a lead good enough to head back to the precinct to ask for a file, Dean was plastered, the inhibition-lowering, sloppy kind of drunk he tried to avoid.

The cop at the desk, Linus, was adorable.  The uniform, complete with badge, patches, and tie, couldn’t help the boyishness of his high cheekbones, dusted the pink of wild roses, and his big, toothy grin. Dean imagined taking him out for a beer and getting him somewhere else, the bathroom, the hotel room, it didn’t matter, where it would be safe to pull him in for a kiss by his tie.  Dean would muss him up, make him pant, then start things off with hand jobs that would lead to frantic frottage with messy kisses.

He was patting his pocket, trying to get his phone out so he could ask Linus for his number and what time his shift ended when Sam came back to drag him out.

When had Sam even left?

Oh, shit he should have been paying attention instead of ogling some cop's bone structure. What is Sam gonna think? Fuck.

…

Dean didn’t know what to do with the fact that Sam didn’t say anything after the siren.  He’d been so confident that Sam was going to fall prey to the doctor that he didn’t consider for a moment that the FBI agent he’d spent such a lovely evening with could have tricked him until it was too late.

He supposed the vicious words they’d spoken to each other under the influence of the siren’s venom were enough to stay Sam.  They’d agreed, like usual, that it wasn’t them and brooded in the knowledge that there had been some honesty present to build into the attack.  But Sam had to know.  The siren had broken its MO for Dean even though it had stuck to the stripper routine with the kid who only had his mother.  Sam couldn’t know that Dean been infected from drinking from the siren’s flask and not from the taste of his lips, and the evidence set before Sam could only lead to one logical explanation. 2 + 2 = 4 and all.

Dean thought about telling him how it had happened, but he knew his anxiety would make it sound like a lie.  Deep down he knew he wanted companionship.  In some deeper, darker secret place, a part of him thought that his ideal relationship couldn’t be with a woman.  So he didn’t say anything.  His restraint added another layer to the twist in his stomach, which already roiled with Sam’s silence.

...

The first thing Dean heard as he woke in the hospital was the rumble of Castiel’s voice.   _“Are you alright?”_

No, no day involving Alastair would be one after which Dean would call himself alright, even ignoring that he had just tortured his former teacher and learned that he’d broken the first seal, but Castiel’s question lead to an open, honest conversation.  They seemed to evoke a certain vulnerability in each other Dean couldn’t explain and he was sure the angel didn’t understand.

He wanted to think that the day had been so overwhelming that he couldn’t have resisted breaking down in front of Castiel, that it had nothing to do with trusting the angel.  He wanted to, but he didn’t.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I deserve more than this, and I refuse to just take what I can get. I love you! In the present tense. You could have had me every day, but you don’t really want me. You don’t really want anything. You haven’t for years, and I understand that.”
> 
> Dean saw his future self place a hand on Cas’s shoulder, and Cas turned into his space. Dean slid his hand down Cas’s arm, holding him in that intimate zone. Cas pulled Dean’s face down and kissed him. They kissed like they were starving for each other, and Dean supposed they must have been. Cas broke away and stepped back from Dean.
> 
> “I’m going to die for you tomorrow. Would you really ask me for more?” Cas said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place mostly during Dean's little trip to Endverse. Spans seasons 5 and 6.
> 
> Be forewarned about typical animosity between the Dean and Cas of 2014. Mention of infidelity. Implied drug use.

Dean woke atop uncovered bedsprings.  The city, whatever it was, was destroyed.  At first he thought it was abandoned too, but he found a little girl couching alone in an alleyway.  He tried to get her attention, but she attacked him, revealing herself as feral, maybe not even human.  Once he knocked her out, he turned to find a word he hadn’t seen since before they killed Azazel scrawled on a brick wall.  He understood, and found himself looking at a horde of the infected.  Dean ran.

The group of infected pursued him.  With a burst of sound and machine gun rounds, the infected began to fall.  If Dean hadn’t needed to get away from the tank as much as the people trying to eat him, he would have found it funny that they chose “Do You Love Me?” as the soundtrack to their dirty work.  Dean slipped under a fence with a sign that read:

_CROATOAN_   
_VIRUS_   
_HOT ZONE_

_NO ENTRY_   
_BY ORDER OF ACTING REGIONAL COMMAND_   
_AUGUST 1ST 2014_   
_KANSAS CITY_

After Zachariah’s vague explanation, he drove to Bobby’s, but the house was also abandoned.  Bobby’s wheelchair lay on the ground riddled with bulletholes and stained with blood.  He found dad’s journal and a photograph in Bobby’s secret compartment over the fireplace.  It looked like Cas was still alive and at some place called Camp Chitaqua.

When he arrived, Dean saw the Impala, his beautiful baby, trashed.  Caught up in lamenting her fate, someone approached him from behind and knocked him out.  He came to and saw himself cleaning a gun across the room.   _What the hell?_  Not only was this the future but some crap out of _The Parent Trap_.  

Other him was a dick, but that wasn’t the worst of this fucked up version of reality.  Cas was alive, but he wasn’t an angel anymore.  Dean found him stoned and spouting off some bullshit about group perception to a bunch of girls who were in his cabin for an orgy.  When he and other Dean were together, they seemed at odds.  They spoke scathingly to each other in a way that couldn’t be mistaken for joking.  Dean didn’t understand how the coil of warmth he’d started to feel around his Cas could have turned into such outright dislike.  But that wasn’t quite right.  They still had a sense of closeness about them that Dean had only begun to appreciate with his Castiel.  Dean didn’t really blame Cas for lashing out.  Other him was nothing but curt and businesslike.  He only asked Cas about his misgivings with the plan to kill the devil to quash dissent, but Dean knew Cas was at least as good of a strategist as him if not better.  He’d been the captain of his garrison afterall.  If Dean were in his position, he’d want Cas’s opinion.  He’d talk to Cas before he brought any plan in front of other people.  So, where had they gone wrong?

As they waited for midnight to come, other Dean let him wander alone to the set of outhouses on the edge of camp.  Dean knew his counterpart hadn’t expected he would come back right away, and he did make a trail along the perimeter, avoiding people.  He didn’t want any of the survivors who hadn’t already seen him have cause to freak out, and he didn’t feel much like talking.  When he came back around to his future self’s cabin, he decided he’d go back in, but other Dean was not alone.  A silhouette he recognized as Cas showed through the window in flickering candlelight.

“Is that supposed to mean something to me now?” Dean heard Cas say.  “I mean.  After all these years, I’m supposed to fall for your last night on earth speech?”

“Cas, I know it isn’t fair.  I know I’m an asshole--”

“You are!  I can’t believe you would even dare,” Cas said.

“But we’re never going to get another chance,” other Dean continued.

“You should have thought of that before you fucked someone else and stopped treating me like a person.”

“I couldn’t, Cas.  I can’t be who I need to be to lead these people and be somebody who can love you at the same time.”

“Then that’s your choice, Dean.  Live with it.”

Castiel turned toward the door.  “Cas, wait!” other Dean said.  Cas paused.  “Just tell me one thing.”

“What?”

“Do you want this?”

“Yes.”

“Then why?”

“I deserve more than this, and I refuse to just take what I can get.  I love you! In the present tense.  You could have had me every day, but you don’t really want me.  You don’t really want anything.  You haven’t for years, and I understand that.”

Dean saw his future self place a hand on Cas’s shoulder, and Cas turned into his space.  Dean slid his hand down Cas’s arm, holding him in that intimate zone.  Cas pulled Dean’s face down and kissed him.  They kissed like they were starving for each other, and Dean supposed they must have been.  Cas broke away and stepped back from Dean.

“I’m going to die for you tomorrow.  Would you really ask me for more?” Cas said.

Dean hid himself in the shadows as Cas came outside, walking in the direction of his cabin.  Dean watched the silhouette of his future self stand listlessly where Cas had left him, staring as if he could conjure Castiel’s return with longing alone.  After a moment, Dean followed after Castiel.

...

At the clinking of the beaded curtain, Cas looked from his lap where his fingers twisted the cap of a pill bottle without applying pressure.  He looked down again when he saw Dean.  The schreek schreek of the lid and their breaths were the only sounds in the room.

“I saw you with me,” Dean said.

“Are you surprised?” Cas asked.

“Not really.”

“When are you from in 2009 specifically?” Cas asked.

“We took on Raphael a couple weeks ago,” Dean said.

“And you took me to that brothel.”

“Yeah.  Best night I’ve had in a long time.”  Dean glanced at Cas and saw him smiling softly.  “You know, I wanted you to ask me to show you.  Hell, I wanted to suggest it.”

“Perhaps it’s better that you didn’t.  I didn’t understand then what I had begun to feel for you.  It took me a long time to get it.  I was scared that night.  I started talking to that girl about her dad because I was scared, but it pleased me to make you laugh.  Having emotions was still new to me then.”

Cas stretched up, not able to stifle a yawn, and then leaned back on his hands with his eyes closed.

“Do you want to go to sleep?” Dean asked.

“No,” Cas said.  “I’m waiting.”

“For what?”

“Dean.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’ll be here any minute now,” Cas said.  “He’s going to ask to make love to me again, and this time I’m going to say yes.”  
…

Dean shouldn’t have been surprised that Cas was right.

Cas sat up and put the pill bottle back in its place with the row of others.  Dean wanted to ask Cas why he’d give in now, but he didn’t.  He wouldn’t have had time if he had wanted to.  Another swish of the beaded curtain warned of the other Dean’s approach.  When he entered the room, the elder Winchester spared Dean a glance before planting himself in front of Castiel, tense as if waiting for a punch.

“I know I’ve disappointed you,” the other Dean said.  “I know I haven’t treated you right.  I’ve taken you for granted every step of the way, and I pushed you away when I needed you most.  I don’t deserve anything from you.  I regret walking out on you.  I know it’s too little, too late, but I am sorry.  And I’m selfish enough to ask: if I asked you for more, would you give it?”

Dean believed himself.  He still couldn’t fathom how things could have gotten so bad, but he knew under all the layers of bullshit, there was something of him left in this battered shell of a man.  He watched Cas’s face as he studied his future self.  Dean saw the seriousness of his own Cas return to this Cas’s expression, tempered with a deep sadness, but Cas smiled at his Dean.  It was a small, crooked, upwards tick of his lips that spoke of so much tenderness, it took Dean’s breath away to look at it.

“Of course,” Cas said.  
…

The relationship the Dean and Cas from Zachariah’s twisted 2014 had haunted Dean long after it was certain not to come to pass.  It made him rein himself in with Cas.  Sometimes he ached with the struggle of it even in the most inappropriate times.  If there ever was a bad time for his yearning to rear its insatiable head it would be looking back over his shoulder to Cas alight with the glow of holy fire surrounding him.

Dean wondered if he had reached out, would it have changed things?  He knew it was too late now, but the question niggled at him.

If he had reached out, would Sam’s wall still be up?

If he had reached out, would Cas have died?

A further question he didn’t want to ask himself was, was this any better than the croat-infested world he’d once been glad to avoid?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started this as a way to explore the moments that are indicative of Dean's bisexuality, and it's gotten a life of its own. I'm making it up as I go, so thank you to those who stick around for the journey. I hope to be done sampling moments from seasons past in another chapter or two. The conclusion of season 9 has given me different ideas for how this will go, but Sam will find out (officially from Dean). I don't know when or how, but that conversation will come.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the distance, Dean heard Benny whistling Tchaikovsky. He sighed as he found a flat-topped rock and plopped down in it. Dean rolled his shoulders.
> 
> “Cas,” he began, just saying the name gave him the focus that made praying different from ordinary thoughts. “You’ve gotta know by now that I met someone who says there’s a way out of here. I still don’t know if I believe it. Only one way to find out, but I’m not leaving until I find you. Are you getting this Cas? I have to see you or your wings burnt on the ground before I’ll go. I don’t understand why you won’t answer me. If you could just let me know that you’re alive, I’d be real grateful. You could dreamwalk me you know, if you refuse to show up. I just. I need to know. I’m about to bed down for the night. You be careful out there, Cas.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spans seasons 7 and 8. Includes a tad of crazy!Cas, Purgatory, and Aaron Bass. I think Dean's inner dialogue earns the pre-slash tag now.

Dread was the only word Dean could think of to describe what he felt as he searched for any mention of a faith healer or a spell or a fucking ritual dance that might save Sam from dying of exhaustion courtesy of Lucifer’s perpetual shenanigans in his head.  The feeling dulled his panicky desperation as he dialed the number on the back of the card, which had fallen from the journal, and listened to a hunter with no reason to bullshit him say he’d found the real deal.  Dean sure hoped it wasn’t another chained reaper.

As he saw the woman bound to the chair through the window and found himself face-to-face with a demon, his hopes rose.  If the greasy fucks from hell wanted a piece of the action, something must really be going on.  Dean felt a presence behind him at the bottom of the stairs as the demon’s body fell at his feet, and he turned around ready to keep swinging.  The last thing he expected was to feel his stomach drop so far it virtually vanished.  His surprise washed away the residue of anger he’d remember soon enough, so for a moment, his pulse thundered with the song of a one word refrain: _Castiel_.

Dean has had emotional days.  As much as he’d like to steer clear of anything verging on a scene, his life seemed determined to make him some kind of drama movie star from losing his mother to ending the apocalypse with his brother and an angel, an angel he lo--shares a profound bond with, who would later betray him.  Hell, Dean might have watched it if he hadn’t had the misfortune of living it.  And now he had to watch that angel quail against the wall with the weight of Sam’s mental burden lifted onto his shoulders.  Dean thought he ought to feel more relieved to have Sam back, but truly, he felt empty.  His heart was wrung out.  He _was_ glad to have Sam well again.  He was also happy to have Cas back, still angry with him, shocked at what Cas had just done, uneasy for thinking it a little like justice, and a tiny bit hopeful that things could get better from here.  He was exhausted.

The grain of hope that had grown in him had little chance when it became clear Cas was not going to spring back from this.  Castiel’s coping mechanisms, which helped him run away from the reality of the situation he’d brought down on all their heads, horrified Dean.  It was so difficult to speak to Cas like this.  He hadn’t realized how much he had come to depend on Castiel until he was gone, and having him in the same room but unreachable was a whole new level of frustration.

…

_“Sorry, but I’d rather have you cursed or not.  And anyway, nut up, alright?  We’re all cursed. I seem like good luck to you?”_

_“Well, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, but I detect a note of forgiveness.”_

_“Yeah, well.  I’m probably gonna die tomorrow, so…”_

_“Well, I’ll go with you, and I’ll do my best.”_

…

Dean glanced at Cas, meeting his eyes as he nodded before they headed in.  They were silent, efficient.  It felt too good having Cas next to him while facing down the bad guy.  He and Sam were a formidable team because they could communicate on the job flawlessly.  You don’t get that kind of connection with everybody, and he’d missed the one he’d made with Castiel, which was just as deadly and adept as the one he had with his brother but perhaps even more impressive for how quickly it had formed.

The banter with Dick came effortlessly while he and Cas were in their shared zone of focus, their battle calm.  Some deep part of him smiled as Cas, who had been so adamant about not wanting to fight, stepped between him and Dick.  When Dick threw Cas across the room, Dean knew it was time for the moment of truth.  He moved in for the fake out, and Dick, arrogant bastard that he was, swallowed the bait, eager for his villanous monologue.  Dean betrayed nothing as Cas crept up behind Dick, yanking his head back to expose his throat.  The real bone slid home, and Dean felt pleased.

The feeling was short-lived, turning to confusion and trepidation as Cas left him standing alone in the forests of Purgatory surrounded by red, glowing eyes.

…

Benny never said anything about the times Dean would step away, and he never followed.  He didn’t need to if he would have had the inclination.  Trees might have offered Dean a way to get out of sight, but sounds in Purgatory carried for miles.  Dean knew it, but he still wandered off to pray because somewhere since rattled doors and blown lights in a barn in Illinois, he’d developed real faith, if only in a single seraph.  Sincere prayer left him feeling naked.  It was something to be guarded and shared between him and Cas alone, an intimacy more private than lovemaking.

In the distance, Dean heard Benny whistling Tchaikovsky.  He sighed as he found a flat-topped rock and plopped down in it.  Dean rolled his shoulders.

“Cas,” he began, just saying the name gave him the focus that made praying different from ordinary thoughts.  “You’ve gotta know by now that I met someone who says there’s a way out of here.  I still don’t know if I believe it.  Only one way to find out, but I’m not leaving until I find you.  Are you getting this Cas?  I have to see you or your wings burnt on the ground before I’ll go.  I don’t understand why you won’t answer me.  If you could just let me know that you’re alive, I’d be real grateful.  You could dreamwalk me you know, if you refuse to show up.  I just.  I need to know.  I’m about to bed down for the night.  You be careful out there, Cas.”

Dean let the awareness of his aches and pains and fears trickle back in, busying his mind.  “I miss you,” he said, quiet enough not to carry.

He got up, trudged back to where he’d left Benny, shrugged off his jacket to use as a pillow, and laid down on his side.  Sleep came easy here as stolen moments always do.

 _A clearing littered with leaves and bones lay under a hush of fog.  It might be serene even with the remnants of death if not for the splatter of black, viscous and slick, and the long, bloodied feather on the ground.  In the periphery, Dean could see a familiar tan shape beside and behind him.  The hand that landed on his shoulder was warm and welcome.  When he could turn around, they were in a different place.  The surge of a river came on Dean’s left, but he only had eyes for the being in front of him, dirty and bearded but Cas.  He only got to relish the sensation bubbling up in him for a few seconds before he woke up._  If he had to name the feeling, he might have called it joy.  

“Hey,” Dean said, drawing Benny’s attention.  “You know of a river?”

“Yeah,” Benny said.  “It’s about a day’s walk from here.  A little less.”

“Alright.  Let’s go.”

…

Dean set a faster pace than usual the next morning and they reached the river at what felt like evening although the light never changed.  Crouching next to the river, washing his face, was Castiel.  Before he knew he meant to do it, Dean was calling out to him.

“Dean,” Cas said.

“Cas,” Dean said again.  The joy he felt in the dream was real now.  He didn’t think about hugging Cas before pulling him in his arms, but the solid press of him was indescribable.  Fantastic didn’t cut it.  For a moment, it filled an ache in him he tried to ignore, and it was hard to let go.

When he did step away, Dean could feel the strain of the muscles around his mouth as he smiled for what seemed like the first time in forever.  “Damn, it’s good to see you,” he said.  He crooked a finger and brushed a knuckle against the hair on Cas’s cheek.  “Nice peach fuzz.”

Introductions didn’t go so well, but Castiel’s explanation satisfied Dean well enough for now.  They’d get to the portal, and things would go how they would go.  As they traveled, Dean stayed too caught up in having Cas around again, having hope again, that he didn’t see Cas’s protests for what they were.

After they’d all gotten out, Dean knew he’d been a fool to hope, but it didn’t stop him.  He had his reasons.  Buddy Holly sang a song about it and how it could make you do anything.

…

Things with Cas stayed weird and he stopped answering.  Dean prayed anyway.  Dean knew it was futile to ask Sam about it.  If Cas was going to answer a prayer, being Dean gave you a better chance of response, but it seemed he was out of luck.  He asked anyway.  No Cas but a case.  Dean told himself he wasn’t disappointed, that it was par for the course with angel behavior.  It stung anyway.

As Dean interviewed a couple of witnesses, he noticed a guy he’d seen several times throughout the day sitting at a table right in front of him.  The man had some fruit drink in front of him, umbrella and all, but he didn’t seem to be drinking it.  He made eye contact, broke it, made eye contact again, and waved.  Dean stopped paying attention to the women he was talking with in favor of staring back at the guy.  He wrapped up the conversation quickly to head over to his table.  Dean flashed his FBI badge and introduced himself as Agent Bolan, not able to keep the repetitive guitar riff from _Bang a Gong (Get It On)_ out of his head because of the name.

_“Oh, really? Wow. I thought you were like a headhunter or something,” the guy said with a nervous laugh._

_“This is the second, maybe third time I'm seeing you today? Why you following me, Gingerbread?” Dean asked._

_“Oh, so we, um... we didn't have a thing back there, huh?”_

Surprise threw Dean off a little. _“Back where? W-what, now?”_

_“I'm sorry, man. I – I thought – I thought we had a thing back at the quad, you know – a little ‘eye magic’ moment, and I saw you here and I figured I'd wait until you were done with your meeting and then maybe we might, uh…”_

Eye magic?  They might have held a gaze or two, but Dean wouldn’t call it ‘eye magic’ level.  You had to maintain mutual staring for longer than that.  It needed to be unwavering and intense.  You needed to feel like the person looking at you could see through your flesh into your very being, Dean thought.  I mean, hey, you’re kinda cute but.  But there are dorky, virgin seraphs with better game. _“Yeah. Uh, okay, but no – uh, no moment. This is a... federal investigation.”_

_“Is that supposed to make you less interesting? No. I – I'm sorry, man. I hope – I hope I didn't freak you out or anything.”_

Okay, maybe his game wasn’t so bad.  Shit.  What do I do?   _“No. No. I – I'm n-not freaked out. It's just a, you know... a federal thing. It's, uh... Okay…”_  The ringing of Dean’s cell phone interrupted his attempt to get himself out of the bar gracefully or maybe… Maybe into this guy’s pants.  Did he want that?  He checked the caller id, and it was Sam.  Thank fuck.   _“...citizen.  As you were.”_

Dean bailed, cringing internally at the amount of awkward he was leaving behind.

_“You have a good night,” the guy said to his retreating form._

_“You – you…”  Dean turned back to him, bumping into a table as he continued his exit. “...have a – okay.”_  Fucking smooth, Winchester.

…

As Dean’s fortune would have it, the guy--Aaron--hadn’t been flirting with him at all.  The victim had been his grandfather, and now he found himself in charge of a giant, clay man.  Dean had to confess he was a little disappointed that Aaron’s come-on had been a ruse.  After starting to work with Aaron and the Golem, Dean had considered asking if the offer was still on the table, but he wasn’t sure if he would have gone through with it.  He hadn’t slept with a guy since before dad died, and he wasn’t looking forward to having that conversation with Sam.  He also suspected his attraction to Aaron had more to do with someone else with dark hair and maybe a pair of wings than anything else.  If he were being honest with himself, Dean knew he would probably think of Cas in the event that he had sex with a dude again, and he was being honest with himself for once.  He’d jerked off pondering how Cas would feel inside him more often than he would like to admit, and if he let some guy, Aaron or anybody else, fuck him, he was certain he would mentally replace him with Cas.  It would feel good, better than good.  It would be the best sex he’d had in years.  He would get closer to orgasm and--oh, fuck yes, Cas--he would moan the wrong name.  That would be mortifying.  No, better not to risk it.  More significant still was the hesitant thought that he wouldn’t go through with it because Dean considered himself a faithful man, double entendre intended.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter, I think, before we get to have some fun with demon!Dean. We'll see. As usual, thanks for reading! If you notice any mistakes, feel free to point them out, and I will definitely edit.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Let’s see that hand,” he said as soon as he’d dropped his stuff.
> 
> “It’s fine,” Cas said.
> 
> “Humor me,” Dean said. Cas sighed but offered up his injured wrist.
> 
> As Dean unwrapped the bandage they’d put on at Nora’s, he started talking to distract Cas and because he wanted to: “When I was a kid and my mom used to tuck me in at night, she’d always tell me that angels were watching over me. I don’t know if she really believed that. The Campbells kept their share of secrets. She was kind of right though, even if all of them but one turned out to be assholes. I think she would have liked you.” 
> 
> He had Cas treated with a new layer of salve, rebandaged, and rewrapped in no time. He grazed his lips over Cas’s knuckles. “All better.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spans seasons 8 and 9. Includes the events of the crypt scene in Goodbye Stranger. I make no mention of April, but that is at the back of Dean's mind as he thinks about not wanting to take Cas to a bar because he didn't feel like dealing with watching people hit on Cas, so if that counts as Cas/other to you, let this be your warning. Brief mention of suicide as Dean thinks about a movie reference.

Dean didn’t know what to think.  He’d had plenty of experience with physical abuse at the hands of angels, and he knew Castiel was holding back.  Cas’s one strange moment of clarity only brought more questions to the table.  Who is Naomi?  Through the pain, Dean’s mind swirled around that question, but, even with Cas pulling his punches, he might die before the answer proved useful.

 _“Cas,” Dean gasped, his mouth running on some panicky autopilot.  “This isn't you. This isn't you.”_  But Castiel didn't stop.  Dean groaned.   _“Cas. Cas. I know you're in there. I know you can hear me. Cas... It's me.”_  Castiel’s hand held his blade up, ready to deliver a killing blow, but the strike did not come.   _“We're family. We need you. I need you,” Dean said, the truth, or some small part of it, racing out of him in the face of imminent death._

Castiel’s blade clattered to the floor.

…

Dean couldn't keep his mind from whizzing back through the events in the crypt as he was trying to sleep that night, analyzing.  Castiel had said he didn’t know what broke the connection.  It seemed obvious that Cas had regained himself after picking up and awakening the angel tablet, but he had dropped his blade before the tablet ever touched him.

Why?

By the time Dean began to feel the heaviness on his eyelids that promised slumber, why hardly seemed like a word anymore.

...

Dean was damn proud of Krissy Chambers.  She was a high class girl, and she’d be a high class hunter.  Heck, she already was.  Still, kid hunters made him melancholy.  He settled in the library with his feet kicked up on the table with a beer.  He drank it slowly, in no rush to get wasted, and thought about his own childhood.  He’d told Henry that John had done his best, but deep down Dean knew he hadn't.

He’d just polished off his beer as Sam set a steaming mug in front of him that smelled vaguely flowery.  He frowned at it.  “What is this?” Dean asked.

“It’s jasmine tea.  I don’t know so much about the Cowboy Junkies, but we’re talking this out.”

“Sam--” Dean started, but Sam interrupted.  

“Look, Dean, I know, okay? So, you don't have to pretend.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I know you love Cas.”

“I--”

“So help me, Dean, if you deny it.”

“Okay.  Okay, so maybe.  Maybe that’s true.  What does it matter?”

Sam looked at him, exasperated.  “Come on, Dean.  He almost killed you, and you don’t think it matters at all that you’re in love with him?”

Dean picked up the empty beer bottle and started tearing at the label.  “That wasn’t Cas.  That’s not the problem.  It wasn’t fun, but that’s not why I’m upset.”

“So you are upset,” Sam said, leaning forward.  The drag of porcelain against wood as Sam’s cup slid with him made a dull sound.

“Of course I’m upset!  He just left me in mid sentence.  Again.  I should be used to it by now, but every time I think maybe this time he’ll stay,” Dean said.  He frowned as the paper gave loose under his ministrations, the beer bottle slipped from his hands and was saved from clattering to the floor only by the thin line of glue on one edge.

“Does he know you want him to?” Sam asked.

“I thought it was obvious,” Dean countered.  He tore the paper away, leaving splotches of white against bare amber.

“Have you ever actually, I dunno, _talked_ to him about it?”

“He knows he’s family.  I told him more than once that I need him, and I don’t say that just for shits and giggles.”  Sharp creases bit into Dean’s palm where he held the beer label clenched in his hand.

“Okay, I know that, but does he?  Does he get what that means to you?” Sam asked.

“I don’t know.”

“It might help to make sure you’re on the same page,” Sam said, leaning back.

“Yeah, whenever he feels like talking to me again.”

…

_Dean collapsed with Sam against the Impala.  He turned his eyes to the purple-hued sky, and watched as white hot circles edged with warmer colors began to pour streaks of light through the air._

_“No Cas,” Dean gasped._

_“What’s happening?” Sam asked._

_“The angels.  They’re falling.”_  

…

Dean and Cas left Nora’s only a few minutes after 8 O’clock.  Too early to call it a night, but what to do?  Cas still clearly felt unsure about his standing with Dean, not that Dean could blame him, and Dean didn’t know how to tell Cas he hadn’t wanted to ask him to leave the bunker without spilling the whole truth, endangering Sam.  Dean’s former go-to’s were out of the question: bars, brothels, dens of inequity as Cas would have called them once.  He didn’t feel like trying for a casual hook-up, and he certainly didn’t want to watch Cas go for it either.

He could, there was no doubt about that.  The strip of Cas’s skin exposed by those undone buttons made Dean’s mouth water, and he knew people would flock to Cas, lured in by his raw sex appeal and charmed by his awkward eagerness.  In better days, he could accept that with good grace, but on top of everything else right now-- No, right now Dean couldn’t handle that.  The silence hanging between them in the car was getting a little tying too.

“Hey, Cas--”

“Dean, I don’t want to talk about it.”

“About what?”

“Anything you heard Ephraim say.”

“Hey, I get that.  Believe me.  I was just gonna say do you want to grab something to eat?  Because I think I could go for some food.”

“I-- Yeah, that sounds good.”

“Good.”  Dean looked over at Cas, unable to keep the smile off his face.  Cas glanced back at him, offering his own tentative smile in return.

Dean pulled over at the first promising looking diner.  Looking up at the menu shoulder to shoulder with Cas, he felt better than he had in ages.  “What do you want?” he asked.

“I don’t really know what I like.  I’ll have whatever you’re having.”

“Okay,” Dean said.

“I’ll get us a table,” Cas said.

Dean brought over two baskets brimming with fries gathered around a styrofoam cup of gravy, a couple of pieces of toast, and several crispy, golden, juicy-looking chicken strips.  “I figured this would be easier one-handed,” he said.

“Thanks,” Cas said.

Watching Cas dig in with gusto, Dean was glad he could do something right.  “What do you think?” Dean asked.

Cas had a mouthful of chicken strip, so he just tilted his head inquisitively before he swallowed.  He gestured with the half of chicken strip in his hand.  “About these?  These are delicious.”

“Good.”  Cas wasn’t wrong.  Dean didn’t often waver from his order of a cheeseburger and fries, but a little change was good sometimes.

“Cas, there’s something I need you to know.  This is not how I want things to be.  I can’t explain what’s going on right now, but I need you to know that there is nothing I want more than to have Sam okay and you by my side, okay?  What’s going on is my fault, and I need to handle it.  That’s all I can say right now.”

“Okay, Dean, but you know if there’s anything I can do, I’m not useless.  I want to help you.”

“I know that.”

They ate in silence, companionable at last, for a few moments.  “Hey, Dean,” Cas began, one half of his mouth pulling up in a mischievous grin that made Dean’s insides flutter nervously in a wonderful way.  “Is this a date?”

Dean huffed a short laugh.  “If it is, it’s a terrible one.  You can’t ask somebody if it’s a date in the middle of a date.  Dating rule number one, everyone involved has to be clear on what’s going on.”

“I’ll have to remember that,” Cas said.  He dipped his last bite of toast into his gravy and pushed his basket away.  “Aside from that, is it still a terrible date?”

“If this were a date, I’d say it’s pretty good, but I’m not a hard sale,” Dean said.

Dean sucked a spot of gravy from his thumb, noting the way Cas’s attention was rapt on his lips.  Warmth not from the food in his belly pooled through him.   _Cas is flirting with me,_ Dean thought.   _I’m flirting with Cas.  That’s, um.  Awesome._  

After leaving the diner, they stopped for gas and started searching for a hotel.  Conversation was much easier now.  Dean handed Cas a credit card once they parked.  “I’m gonna get some stuff out of the trunk.  Go get us a room?”  

Cas nodded and headed toward the office.  Dean grabbed his duffel bag and the first aid kit, glad not to have to make the decision on what type of room to get.  Better to let Cas set that boundary.  When the door opened and Dean saw two beds, he was only a little disappointed.  He knew it was too soon.

“Let’s see that hand,” he said as soon as he’d dropped his stuff.

“It’s fine,” Cas said.

“Humor me,” Dean said.  Cas sighed but offered up his injured wrist.

As Dean unwrapped the bandage they’d put on at Nora’s, he started talking to distract Cas and because he wanted to: “When I was a kid and my mom used to tuck me in at night, she’d always tell me that angels were watching over me.  I don’t know if she really believed that.  The Campbells kept their share of secrets.  She was kind of right though, even if all of them but one turned out to be assholes.  I think she would have liked you.”  

He had Cas treated with a new layer of salve, rebandaged, and rewrapped in no time.  He grazed his lips over Cas’s knuckles.  “All better.”

Dean looked up in time to see Cas’s Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed.  “Dean…” Cas said, seeming not to have words.

Dean leaned back into his own space, sparing Cas and changing the subject.  “What time do you have to be at work in the morning?” he asked.

“Six.”

“Then we probably better call it a night.”

…

_Hannah gestured to Dean.  “Punish him.”_

_“What?” Dean asked._

_“He murdered Tessa. He broke our rules,” Hannah answered._

_“Y'all can all go to hell,” Dean said.  He turned to the door but the hands of angels halted him._

_“Dean,” Cas said._

_“Hey, wait a sec--” Sam said, starting toward Dean._

_“You gave us order, Castiel, and we gave you our trust. Don't lose it over one man,” Hannah said, placing a blade in his hand.  “This is justice.”_

Castiel looked at the blade, held it steady by his side, and when he raised his eyes to the room again Dean couldn’t read him.  Dean stared at him, fear rising crazily inside him.   _Cas wouldn’t, would he?  But I’m not worth this.  I’m not_ , Dean thought.  Cas looked back at him, the moment hanging between them like so many before, but Dean didn’t know what it meant.  Regret?  An apology?  Indecision?  To die at Cas’s hands would be a better death than many deaths Dean had died before, but horrible in other ways.   _We’ve had our disagreements, but we care about each other.  I love him.  Is he going to kill me?_

 _“No. I can't,” Cas said._  He let his hand fall and dropped his gaze, too aware of the cost of his decision but firm.

Dean felt as if he had just gone down a steep drop on a rollercoaster, and the sensation that filled his chest and swirled with the adrenaline built up inside him was relief.  Before him, undeniable at last, was proof that Cas values him more than his mission, more than his guilt and penance, his obligation to his siblings.

_“Goodbye, Castiel,” Hannah said._

Her judgment was the final word, and, within moments, Sam, Dean, and Cas were the only beings left in a building still buzzing with the machines of an intelligence operation.  In that instance, with the lights from computer screens blinking and casting their haze about the mostly empty room, Dean could only think of a scene from _The Stand_ , of a military man faced with abject failure quoting poetry before deciding to blow his brains out: _things fall apart; the centre cannot hold._   

...

_“So, batteries,” Dean said as he sat down._

_“I'm fine,” Cas said._

_“No, you're not. How long you got?”_

_“Long enough to destroy Metatron, I hope. But without an army…” Cas said._

_“Well, hey, you still got us,” Dean said._

_Cas leaned forward.  “Dean. Those bombers--you don't really think that I?”_

_“Cas, you just gave up an entire army for one guy. No, there's no way that you blew those people away,” Dean said._

_“You really believe we three will be enough?” Cas asked._

_“We always have been.”_

…

 _“Sam, hold up.  Hold up.  I got something to say to you.”_  

They paused in their lurching progress toward the door, and Sam braced himself against Dean’s weight. _“What?” Sam asked._

_Dean moved his hand without breaking eye contact with Sam, cradling the back of his head.  “I’m proud of us.”_

He meant it.  They tried.  Sometimes they did the impossible and sometimes they failed epically.  But they never gave up.  It would be better this way.  Stuck in the veil, he couldn’t be twisted into something out of his worst nightmares.  He’d never got to have that talk with Cas, but maybe Sam could live his life, at last, how he wanted.  He could feel his breath rattle out of his lungs.  Sam and the warehouse beyond him faded into darkness.  Dean did not breathe in.

…

Sound seemed distant and muffled.  He had stopped hearing Sam hours or perhaps an infinity ago, but a new, familiar voice started now, imploring:

_“Your brother, bless his soul, is summoning me as I speak. Make a deal, bring you back. It's exactly what I was talking about, isn't it? It's all become so... expected. You have to believe me. When I suggested you take on the Mark of Cain, I didn't know this was going to happen. Not really. I mean, I might not have told you the entire truth. But I never lied. I never lied, Dean. That's important. It's fundamental. But...there is one story about Cain that I might have... forgotten to tell you. Apparently, he, too, was willing to accept death, rather than becoming the killer the Mark wanted him to be. So he took his own life with the Blade. He died. Except, as rumor has it, the Mark never quite let go. You can understand why I never spoke of this. Why set hearts aflutter at mere speculation? It wasn't until you summoned me... No, it wasn't truly until you left that cheeseburger uneaten...that I began to let myself believe. Maybe miracles do come true.”_

Somebody moved his arm, and he shouldn’t be able to feel that, right?  Death divorced the spirit and the body.  A handle was placed in his palm, and it brought lightning to his veins.   _The first blade._  The voice started again.  Crowley.  It was Crowley.

_“Listen to me, Dean Winchester, what you're feeling right now--it's not death. It's life--a new kind of life. Open your eyes, Dean. See what I see, feel what I feel, and let's go take a howl at that moon.”_

Dean felt more aware now.  He was laying on top of something soft--his bed in his room if his senses served him correctly.  He couldn’t feel any wounds.  He didn’t feel guilt or fear or disappointment.  He didn’t feel anything at all except for the sweet thrum of rage pulsing through him from the mark.

Dean opened his eyes, his black demon eyes, for the first time, and for the first time, he knew true freedom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are officially finished with our jaunt through canon, so we'll be off into uncharted territory in the next chapter! I actually have quite a bit of the next chapter finished already (although I don't know when I'll be all the way done), and I'm having a magnificent time with demon!Dean. There are parts of it I feel cruel for writing, but I enjoy being awful just a bit. Thanks for reading!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was a stupid bit of negligence on Dean’s part that got him caught. He should have switched cars, but he didn’t. Sam and Cas tracked him with the Impala’s plate number, and interrupted him in the middle of trying to pick up a slim, sandy-haired substitute teacher. Cas was next to him with a hand on his shoulder before he even scented angel, but Cas smelled faint now, still fading it seemed.  
> “Come with me, Dean,” that deep rumble of a voice said above him.  
> “I’m kinda busy here, Cas,” Dean said.  
> “He’s not your type,” Cas said.  
> Dean snorted. “Yeah, and what would you know about it, Cas?”  
> “Enough,” Cas said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please give these warnings a read before you start the chapter because I know many of them can be upsetting/uncomfortable: Violence – gore, body horror/mutilation/corpse desecration, and mentions of torture. Heavy re-emphasis on the Dean/other tag; sexual content - blow jobs, face fucking, rimming, fingering, anal sex (Dean tops), mentions of group sex.

“What do you want with me, Crowley?” Dean asked.

“I think a partnership would be mutually beneficial between you and I.”

“Oh, yeah, and how’s that?”

“I remember what is was like newly born to darkness, how cavernous the ache in you is.  I can help you relieve it.  Our nature calls for blood--yours more than most thanks to your many-times-great grandad--and it’s worse when you’re new.  I have many enemies in hell now that Abaddon turned some heads, more than I can deal with by myself, but we can hunt them together.  There’s no one better, Dean.”

“You’re right about that, but why should I care?”

“After we find the dissenters, I’ll let you do whatever you like with them.”

The mark on his arm throbbed eagerly.  He needed to kill something, and if Crowley could provide, Dean would take his fill.

…

Dean didn’t know how Crowley rousted out the demons no longer loyal to him.  He didn’t care.  He cared about how after the chase and capture each day, groups of four or five would be let out of their cells into a larger room where Dean awaited.  Every time, they thought they could take him.  Every time he proved them wrong.  Dean didn’t count how many he killed--it was never enough--but as time went on he found he knew some of them, had even made some of them himself under Alastair’s guidance.  Those were the most fun.  They put up the best fight.

This one had been a tough break, not the likes of the Winchesters, but one of Dean’s most difficult victims.  He’d been one of the last souls Dean had twisted before the angels came.  The bodies of the other demons released with him lay mangled on the floor, and he faced Dean braced with a jagged femur torn from one of his fallen comrades.  Dean appreciated his ingenuity.  

“It’s a shame you picked the losing side of hell’s big civil war.  You’re clever, resourceful.  Don’t see that too often,” Dean said.

“I had a good teacher,” the demon snarled.

Dean laughed.  “True.  Time for one last lesson.”

Dean advanced with the first blade held aloft, his hands and arms covered in blood.  Bits of flesh and what resembled grey matter clung to his clothes and cheeks.  The white of his teeth glared starkly out from the red surrounding his mouth as he grinned.  Dean thrust the blade toward the demon’s stomach, but he blocked the blow, bone grinding against bone.  He grabbed the demon’s wrist and snapped it, a trick he’d learned from his old friend Cas.  The demon howled and collapsed to his knees.  Dean didn’t hesitate to draw the blade across his throat, relishing the gush of liquid pumping from his jugular.  

…

Crowley couldn’t hold Dean forever.  Hell time passed more swiftly than earth time, and soon enough, hell was once again a well-oiled, highly organized machine tuned up to Crowley’s specifications.  Dean grew bored.  To sate his restlessness, he went topside, thinking maybe bloodlust wasn’t the only hunger he could quench.  

It’d been years, but Dean remembered what to look for in a bar that would suit his tastes.  At first glance, you might think it was like any other biker’s hovel, but in places like these, you knew you wouldn’t get your teeth busted for chatting up someone with the same parts as you.  Dean ordered the house whiskey and surveyed the room.  It didn’t take him long to find a hopeful prospect.  He was glancing around, taking nervous sips of his drink, and staring at his hands more than anything.  Seated, Dean couldn’t gauge his exact height, but he’d bet they would stand within an inch or so of each other.  He was wearing a tight fitting Henley under a leather jacket that accentuated his muscles deliciously, and Dean could tell he was toned but not an extreme beefcake.  Dark hair, blue eyes, no halo.  Perfect.

Dean knocked back the rest of his drink and headed over.  “Hey,” he said as he slid into the bench across from the guy.  “First time out?” he asked.

The guy laughed.  “That obvious?”

“Nah, man.  I know the signs.  I’m out of practice myself.  I’m Dean.  What should I call you?”

“Matt,” the guy said, extending his hand.  “It’s nice to meet you, Dean.”

“Should I buy you another drink or do you want to get out of here?”

Matt gave a small huff of disbelief, whether indignantly or in surprise at his luck, Dean couldn’t tell until he swished his drink, swallowed the rest in one go, and bent his head toward the door.

Dean beamed as he rose.  He couldn’t wait to take Matt apart.

...

They grabbed a hotel room near the bar.  As soon as the door clicked shut, Matt braced Dean against the door and captured his mouth in a searing kiss.   _Cautious on the prowl, assertive in the bedroom_ , Dean thought.   _Hell yeah._  They made out fiercely, separating only long enough to strip off articles of clothes on the way toward the bed.  Pausing before their legs would bump the bed frame, Matt trailed a line of wet kisses along Dean’s jaw, down his throat and chest, and hovered under his belly button applying a sharper suction before sliding Dean’s boxers off.  Dean fisted his hair and moaned as Matt licked a line up the underside of his shaft.  He rolled his tongue against Dean’s frenulum, wrapped his lips around his cockhead, and sank down slowly until his nose was buried in the scant patch of Dean’s pubic hair.  It took every ounce of Dean’s restraint not to thrust into his mouth with abandon.  Even as a demon, he had a certain amount of tact, and sex that was only fun for one party wasn’t what Dean would call a blast.

Matt placed a light hand on his hip as he noticed the tension in Dean’s muscles and pulled off.  He said, “Do it.  I’ve practiced.  I can take it.”

Dean groaned his approval, tightened his grip on Matt’s hair, and started fucking his face sloppy and rough.  When he came, Matt swallowed him down and licked at his slit to get every drop.  He made quite the picture on his knees, languidly stroking Dean’s cock with his chin lifted up to make eye contact, and smiling all the while.

“Come ‘ere,” Dean said.

Matt slipped back into his arms happily, and Dean kissed him, chasing the taste of his come on Matt’s tongue, before stretching him out on the bed.  Dean retrieved a packet of lube and a condom from the pocket in his jeans, setting them beside him as he parted Matt’s legs and settled between them.  He traced his thumb against Matt’s perineum down to circle the pink pucker of muscle waiting there and then followed the same path with his tongue.  He came back up to suck at Matt’s balls, beginning to coax him to hardness again with his mouth while he fingered Matt open.  Dean brought Matt nearly to the edge--he had missed giving head--before sinking into him.  The clutch of Matt’s muscles around him was blissfully tight and would have been absolute ecstasy but for one thing: this position afforded so much eye contact.  Matt’s irises were a pleasant light blue, too light to be ideal.  Dean turned him over so that an expanse of skin and a dark brown mop of hair were all there was to look at.  Watching Matt claw at the sheets and bite the pillow to muffle the pleasured sounds streaming from his mouth made Dean thrust with more urgency and brought stutters to his steady rhythm.  He felt the spasms of Matt’s orgasm around his cock and spilled into the man under him.  Matt was shaking, breathless, and exhausted just as Dean had intended him to be.  

As soon as Dean was sure Matt was asleep he slipped out the door.

…

It was a stupid bit of negligence on Dean’s part that got him caught.  He should have switched cars, but he didn’t.  Sam and Cas tracked him with the Impala’s plate number, and interrupted him in the middle of trying to pick up a slim, sandy-haired substitute teacher.  Cas was next to him with a hand on his shoulder before he even scented angel, but Cas smelled faint now, still fading it seemed.

“Come with me, Dean,” that deep rumble of a voice said above him.

“I’m kinda busy here, Cas,” Dean said.

“He’s not your type,” Cas said.

Dean snorted.  “Yeah, and what would you know about it, Cas?”

“Enough,” Cas said.  He clamped his hand around Dean’s arm resolutely.  He glared at the sub.  “Get lost if you know what’s good for you.”

The guy glanced at Dean, irritation clear on his features.  “Yeah whatever, man,” he said before stalking off.  Dean wasn’t too disappointed.  He’d bedded a slew of couples and had a couple of encounters that probably counted as orgies since he’d picked up Matt.

“Channeling the B-movie villain much?” Dean asked without looking up.

“It served my purpose,” Cas said, buckling the chains that had once bound the king of hell to Dean’s wrist.

“Oh, come on.  What do you think you’re gonna do?  Cure me?  I’m not stunt demon number five, you know.  What makes you think it’ll even work?”

“You know us, Dean.  Something always works.”

Dean snorted but didn’t fight as Cas led him out to the parking lot.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The day after I posted the last chapter, my queerplatonic partner's brother passed away, so I'm uncertain how that will affect my updating. I've never lost anyone so close to me, so this is going to be a difficult time. As always, thank you very much for reading.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I found him,” Cas said. “Do you want to meet somewhere or should we head to the bunker?”
> 
> “I’ll meet you at the bunker. How is he?” Sam asked.
> 
> “Heya Sammy!” Dean called. “I’m peachy except for how Cas snatched me in the middle of a pick up to clap me in irons, and I don’t even think he’s gonna do anything sexy with them. That’s a bummer. And rude.” Dean sent Cas a salacious smirk. “It’s a pity your father never taught you any manners, angel.”
> 
> “Dean is as charming as ever,” Cas said.
> 
> “If you need to meet before Kansas, we can, Cas,” Sam said. “Just say the word.”
> 
> “Dean is nothing I can’t handle,” Cas said.
> 
> “But will you handle me?” Dean interrupted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No particular warnings this time that I can think of. Mentions of group sex again and mentions of violence. We have flirty demon!Dean and Cain makes an appearance in this chapter.

As Cas shut the Lincoln’s passenger door behind Dean, he pulled out his phone and placed a call while walking to the driver’s side.  The ringing stopped as Cas settled behind the wheel, and Dean could hear, faint but recognizable, Sam’s voice answer.

“I found him,” Cas said.  “Do you want to meet somewhere or should we head to the bunker?”

“I’ll meet you at the bunker.  How is he?” Sam asked.

“Heya Sammy!” Dean called.  “I’m peachy except for how Cas snatched me in the middle of a pick up to clap me in irons, and I don’t even think he’s gonna do anything sexy with them.  That’s a bummer.  And rude.”  Dean sent Cas a salacious smirk.  “It’s a pity your father never taught you any manners, angel.”

“Dean is as charming as ever,” Cas said.

“If you need to meet before Kansas, we can, Cas,” Sam said.  “Just say the word.”

“Dean is nothing I can’t handle,” Cas said.

“But _will_ you handle me?” Dean interrupted.

“He seems disappointed with his restraints.  If he becomes a problem, I know a few bindings that might make things more interesting for him.  We’ll be fine, Sam.”

“Okay.  I’ll see you in a few hours.  Call if you need anything.”

“Of course.  Goodbye Sam.”

...

“You know Cas, I thought you were supposed to be the size of the Chrysler building,” Dean said, letting his eyes flash black.  He slouched in his chair and did his best to ignore the chains.

“I’m dying, or have you forgotten? My true form is diminished more and more as this grace burns away.”

“I didn’t forget.  How’s that going?”

“There appear to be no options that allow me to remain an angel.”

“That’s a shame.”

“Death or mortality?  It would have been an easy choice before.”

“Before what?  Me?”

“Yes.  I’ll be able to do less to help you as a human.  It was hard after Metatron cut out my grace, but I had hopes.  I wanted to make a home for myself here.  I wanted you to teach me to hunt and all the best things about being human.  I wanted to grow old with you.”

Dean grabbed Cas’s tie and pulled him down.  “We would have fallen into bed together too, right?  The way you imagined it.”

Cas held Dean’s gaze resolutely.  Neither of them technically needed to breathe, but they both could feel the brush of air against their cheeks.  “Yes, eventually,” Cas agreed.

“We’d fall in love too?” Dean asked, trying hard to be mocking but failing.

Cas let his eyes fall to Dean’s lips, so close now, and leaned incrementally forward.  “We are in love, Dean.  You can try to act lecherous, as if that would deter me, or pretend you don’t care, but human or otherwise, that’s a fact.”

“Is that why you never stayed?” Dean snapped.

“I was never sure of my welcome,” Cas said, his lips pressed together in a thin line.

Dean huffed and shifted to stretch his legs out as far as they could get while manacled, not deigning Cas’s answer with a response.    

…

Dean heard footsteps outside the secret door to the dungeon, and he lifted his head up expectantly.  It had been approximately three hours since Cas had left him to stew in silence.

“Are you sure you want to see him?” he heard Cas ask.

“He’s my brother.  I have to face this,” Sam answered.

“He’ll be cruel, you have understand that.  He’ll be vicious if you give him the slightest opening.  It’s a veneer.”

“How can you be so sure?” Sam asked.

“Do you think he was just fine when I plucked him from hell?”

“Well no, but what does that have to do with now?  Are you saying he was a demon then?  Do you know how--”

“Slow down, Sam.  He wasn’t turned yet when we met, but he was twisted into something not purely human anymore.  What I’m saying is I’ve seen him in darkness before, and I know him.”

“Okay.  Okay, let’s just do this,” Sam said.

The door swung open and the two of them stepped inside.  Sam’s eyes seemed to travel along the lines of the devil’s trap, the leg of the chair, and the chains binding Dean’s hands before daring to meet his face.

Dean grinned and made his eyes flash black.  Neither of them said anything.  Finally, Dean sighed and rolled his neck.

“Cat got your tongue?” Dean asked.

“I don’t know what to say,” Sam said.

“Oh, come on, little brother.  I’m still me, just spicier.”

“Yeah?  Then where’ve you been?”

“You know.  Here and there.”

“No, I really don’t know, Dean.  It’s been six months.  You were just gone, and I didn’t know what happened to you.”

Dean shrugged.  “I took the hell tour for a while, which was a lot more fun this way.  But that got boring after a while, so I thought I’d come back up top for a little less death, a little more horizontal dancing.  No big deal.”

“You were in hell?” Sam asked, his voice sharp with concern.

“Yeah.  It’s different than it was the first time around.  Crowley’s a lot more organized than whoever was in charge before, and with this thing,” Dean said, inclining his head toward the arm bearing the mark, “I’m like royalty down there.”

“You were working with Crowley?” Sam asked.

“Who in this room hasn’t?” Dean countered.

“That’s a fair point,” Cas interjected.  “What did he want you to do?”

“Dispose of Abaddon’s loyalists.”

“Nothing else?” Cas asked.

“Nah,” Dean said.  “I blew town after he couldn’t find anything else for me to kill.”

“Why are you being so cooperative?” Sam asked.

Dean laughed.  “What do you want?  More belligerence?  What else is there for me to do?  The orgies were getting boring too.  Maybe this will be interesting.  Besides,” Dean said, turning his gaze on Cas, “the view is better here.”

“Why do you think staying here will be interesting?” Sam asked, ignoring Dean’s last comment.

“You want to cure me, right?  The mark won’t let me go, so you’re in quite the pickle, Sammy.  I want to see what you’re gonna do about it.”

“Discovering the parameters of the mark’s influence would be the best thing to start with,” Cas said.

“It didn’t come with an owner’s manual,” Dean said.  “Good luck with that.”

Sam huffed and rubbed his face, starting to pace along the edge of the trap.  “What should we do?  This isn’t in any book I’ve ever heard of.”

“If Cain is a demon, he can be summoned like one,” Cas said.  

Sam stopped pacing.  “Do you think that’s a good idea?” Sam asked, but Cas was already gathering the supplies and bowl necessary for the spell, which were still in the room from Sam’s failed call for Crowley.

Along with the usual symbols, Cas sketched a series of characters in Enochian around the circle and added some of his own blood to the bowl.  When he caught Sam’s questioning look, Cas said, “His name will make the pull harder to ignore.  We are both ancient in human terms, and since his contract was sealed by an angel, my blood may make the call stronger as well.”

They waited.

“Maybe it doesn’t work on knights,” Sam said.

As he spoke, a harried-looking bearded man appeared in the devil’s trap Cas had drawn.  He looked down.  “This won’t hold me, you know.  Who are you and what do you want?”

“Hello, Cain,” Cas said.  “My name is Castiel.”

“The angel?”

“Yes.”

“Well, it’s nice to meet you.  I’ll be going now,” Cain said, preparing to disappear.

“Wait, please.  There is much I would ask you,” Cas said.

“Why should I stay?” Cain asked.

Cas tilted his head toward Dean, and Cain turned his attention to the chair and chains at last.

“Dean,” Cain said.  “I can’t say this is surprising.  I did try to warn you.  Did you manage to kill her, at least?”

“Yes,” Dean said.

“Thank you,” Cain said.

“It was a pleasure.”

“I know,” Cain said.  He looked back to Cas and Sam.  “What do you want to know?”

“The mark.  What it does, if it’s possible to reverse it.  The contract you made with Lucifer in particular might be useful to us,” Cas said.

Cain didn’t acknowledge his response at first, staring past Cas to Sam.  “So you’re his vessel?”

Sam grimaced.  “Yes.”

“Abel was tall like you.  He favored long hair,” Cain said.  “You want to save your brother like he did for you?”

“Yes,” Sam said.

“I will tell you everything I know, but I have a price,” Cain said.

“What’s that?” Sam asked.

“He has to kill me before you try to cure him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really excited to have Cain show up in this. I hope we see more of him on the show. I'm surprised but pleased I got another chapter out despite the rough beginning to this month. I just started my final semester of university this past week (student teaching), so I'll have even less time to write than usual, but I will update whenever I can. As always, thanks for reading!


	8. Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Tell me what he did to give you the mark,” Cas said. “Was there an incantation?”
> 
> “He asked me again if I agreed to the terms of the deal, that I was offering my soul for my brother’s guaranteed salvation as long as I would be responsible for sending him to heaven. After I said yes, he put his hand on my arm where the mark would form and began to recite an incantation in Enochian, which was a fairly basic binding spell. His hand started to glow blue. It burned my arm, but it didn’t stop there. It went into me somehow, and it made me feel like I had swallowed lightening,” Cain said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No specific warnings that I can think of this time. If you need anything tagged, feel free to tell me. This chapter is an interlude because the majority of it, unlike the rest of this fic, is not from Dean's perspective, but this conversation needed to be seen, I think.

Sitting in the dungeon, Dean was loath to ponder how demons must be more attuned to the physicality of their hosts than angels are to their vessels.  The long hours chained to the chair were more than tedious; they were painfully cramped.  If Dean still had a soul, he figured he might sell it again just for a chance to stand up.  He felt a twinge, a small one, mind you, of sympathy for Crowley who had endured this treatment for months.  He drummed his fingers as well as he could and hummed to himself.

~~~

Upstairs, Sam, Castiel, and Cain settled around a table in the library.

“Before we begin,” Cas said, addressing Cain, “there is something that may be of interest to you.  We’re looking for a way to remove the mark you gave Dean because it is possible to return a demon to human form.  If we do not remove the mark first, that ritual will be useless as the mark will simply begin the process of corrupting him again.  Your price for information was your assured death, but we can also offer you another chance at human life.  Of course, once you are mortal, suicide will still be an option on your terms.  I have been at a place where I believed my death would be best, and I would not presume to take that choice from anyone.”    

Cain leveled Cas with a assessing stare, which the angel met unwaveringly until Cain was satisfied he had tried no deception.

“How is such a thing possible?” Cain asked.

Cas cast a questioning glance at Sam, and he nodded slightly.

“It’s a blood ritual paired with an altered exorcism,” Sam said.

“A blood ritual?  If it’s something so simple, why have I never heard of it?” Cain asked.

“It was invented recently as spell work goes, and only one demon that we know of has ever been successfully cured,” Sam said.  “The ritual has some specific stipulations that make it harder than it sounds, but it is relatively easy to accomplish.”

“Perhaps we should show him the recordings,” Cas said.

“You have proof that this works?” Cain asked.

“Yes.  There’s a video of the first unsuccessful attempt and an archive of the proceeding attempts, including the one that worked, on tape,” Sam said.

“I would like to see these,” Cain said.

Sam started to stand.

“But first,” Cas said, “I would like to discuss your contract with Lucifer.”

“You doubt my cooperation?” Cain asked.

“I think it would be strategically risky to trust you on faith.  Dean’s soul is at stake here.  I’m sure you understand my desire for caution.”

“Most angels don’t concern themselves with the salvation of individual souls,” Cain said.

“Yes, well,” Cas said.  “I’ve been told many times I’m a poor example of an angel.  About your contract.  Would it have been sealed so that only Lucifer could break it, or would the contract fall under the king of hell’s domain?”

“Most demon deals are performed at a crossroads and sealed with a kiss.  My arrangement with Lucifer was not like that, nor do I think he would have allowed the responsibility of the contract to fall to anyone else.  It was meant to bind me, personally, with the mark so that its effects could corrupt me as he wanted,” Cain said.

As Cain talked, Sam had watched Castiel for any change in expression that would signal good or bad news, but a calm, laser focus was all Cas let show.  Cas did, however, lean forward, placing his weight on his forearms on the table.

“Your ability to transfer the mark and its effects wholly to another person suggests that the contract is a closed system, that it is somehow contained within the individual,” Cas said.

“Yes,” Cain agreed.  “Unlike a demon deal, a new contract is not needed to spread the influence of the mark to another person.”

Sam caught the slightest upward twitch of the corner of Castiel’s mouth, and he felt some of his tension drain away.  There was hope.

“Tell me what he did to give you the mark,” Cas said.  “Was there an incantation?”

“He asked me again if I agreed to the terms of the deal, that I was offering my soul for my brother’s guaranteed salvation as long as I would be responsible for sending him to heaven.  After I said yes, he put his hand on my arm where the mark would form and began to recite an incantation in Enochian, which was a fairly basic binding spell.  His hand started to glow blue.  It burned my arm, but it didn’t stop there.  It went into me somehow, and it made me feel like I had swallowed lightening,” Cain said.

“He used his grace to bind the contract,” Cas said, sitting back in his chair fully.

“Isn’t that bad?” Sam asked.  “He’s an archangel.”

“Not necessarily,” Cas said.  “What I did to Theo proves that the function of grace is not limited to what I had assumed once.  The grace of an angel does not carry that angel’s identity.  Whatever grace Lucifer left behind to bind the contract may be stronger than average, but it should be breakable, especially after so many years divorced from the rest of Lucifer.”

“Okay, so you think we can do this?” Sam asked.

“Yes.  I think we have several options before us.  It is possible that Dean could pass the mark on to someone else as Cain did with him,” Cas said.“But that would necessitate his true desire to be rid of it and not be a demon anymore.”

“And transferring the mark would only lead to the same problem in another person,” Sam said.

“Yes, so it’s not our best option.  It is also possible that Dean could learn to control the urges of the mark like Cain did, but how much time would that take?  Maybe longer than you or I have to live, so that too is not a great option.”

“So what’s our alternative?” Sam asked.

“I can use what’s left of this grace to break the mark’s hold on Dean,” Cas said.

“And that won’t kill you?” Sam asked, incredulous.

“I’m already dying.  If I must die, I would prefer to do it for a reason,” Cas said.  “And if the grace is removed before I attempt to do this, there may be a window of time that will lessen the effects on me.  There is one possible complication though.”

“What?” Sam asked.

“I might need Dean to say yes to me,” Cas said.

“Shit,” Sam said.

“It may be easier than you think,” Cas said.  “I have an idea.”

Sam raised his eyebrows.  “You gonna share with the class?” he asked.

Cas shrugged.  “I don’t think you want to know.”

~~~

As Sam, Cas, and Cain wrapped up their discussion and began the recordings of Father Max Thompson perfecting the demon cure, Dean sang snippets of songs under his breath.  He had started working his way through Metallica’s discography and was now at the beginning of the _Master of Puppets_ album.

_Not dead which eternal lie_   
_Stranger eons Death may die_   
_Drain you of your sanity_   
_Face The Thing That Should Not Be_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We'll be back in Dean's perspective next chapter. Thank you for reading!


	9. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re human,” Dean said.  
> “For now,” Cas said.  
> Cas came forward, over the devil’s trap, until he was standing directly in front of Dean.  
> “What, like it’s gonna change?” Dean asked, looking up at him.  
> “It depends,” Cas said.  
> “On what?” Dean asked.  
> “I need you to say yes to me,” Cas said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for dubious consent in regard to angelic possession. This happens between Castiel and Dean. Also be ready for serious discussion of how the way John raised the boys has messed Dean up.

An angel other than Cas had been in the bunker.  Dean smelled it still.  It was gone now, and he couldn’t guess why it had come.  He tried to prepare himself for anything.

When the dungeon door next opened, Cas walked in alone.  The wan huddle of his wings was gone.  The faint glow around his edges was gone.  The shadow of his halo was gone.  In the hollow of his hand in a small crystal vial, Cas carried all that had made him an angel, and the ethereal blue of grace peeked out between his fingers.

“You’re human,” Dean said.

“For now,” Cas said.

Cas came forward, over the devil’s trap, until he was standing directly in front of Dean.

“What, like it’s gonna change?” Dean asked, looking up at him.

“It depends,” Cas said.

“On what?” Dean asked.

“I need you to say yes to me,” Cas said.

Dean gave him a wry look but said nothing.  Cas brought the shining vial to his mouth as he asked, “Aren’t you curious what it would feel like?”

Dean smirked and cocked an eyebrow.  “To have you inside me?  Yes, bu-”

Dean realized what he had said and remembered that even debatable consent was enough for angels when he saw the gleam of triumph flash through Cas’s eyes.  Cas tipped the vial back.  As the grace began to travel to the center of him, reaching to rejoin the core that still knew itself as an angel, he pushed it back out and smashed his lips securely to Dean’s before he could say anything more.

Cas pressed two fingers to the raised skin on Dean’s forearm, guiding his grace to the offending spot, and sending out instructions with pulses of his grace to find and dissolve the remnants of Lucifer that bound the contract of the mark of Cain.  It might have been dubious whether or not his grace would be strong enough to cancel the influence, however faint, of an archangel, but in these veins, pumping to a soul embraced once before, even his stolen grace found recognition.  Cas’s connection to the grace faded as it poured into Dean, healing and vanishing rather than possessing, but as it went it sang at the touch of the righteous man.

Deep inside Dean, a sliver of unmarred soul, gold with no glimmer, thrilled at the presence of Cas’s grace.  As it travelled through him, breaking the bindings of the mark of Cain, it left a soothing coolness in its wake, which calmed the roaring hunger to fight or fuck and acted as a balm on the writhing smoke that had become his essence.  Dean closed his eyes as it worked.  When he opened them again, the sensation had begun to dissipate, and he saw Cas kneeling before him on the floor, twin tear tracks down his face.

“Cas?” Dean asked, concern leaking into his voice.

“I’m okay,” Cas whispered.  His lips ticked up.  “Hello, Dean.  How are you feeling?”

“I’m—I don’t know.  Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yes.  I didn’t think I would ever get to experience your soul again, but the mark couldn’t corrupt you totally.  You’re still in there, Dean.  I’m sorry I had to trick you.”

Cas rubbed his thumb over the smooth skin where the mark of Cain had been.  Dean nodded to acknowledge the apology.  The cloud of indifference the mark had fostered in Dean had lifted, leaving him floundering in a flood of sensation.  The emotions the mark had suppressed seemed to be pounding against a wall in his head; he was aware of them, but they felt muted.

“Cas,” Dean said, his voice squeezing around the name.

Cas leaned back, repositioning himself with his legs crossed but not letting go of Dean.  “Do you know what you are?” he asked.

Dean nodded.  He didn’t want to say it.  He knew he couldn’t feel properly because he was a demon, and what was worse, he thought, was that he was almost grateful for the reprieve.  But even as he thought it, some part of him recoiled at being one of the things he’d grown up hunting, one of the things that had killed mom.

“What do you want to do?” Cas asked.

“I don’t want this.”

“Tell me what you want us to do,” Cas encouraged.

“I’m not this.  This isn’t me.  You’ve gotta fix this.  You have to cure me,” Dean said.

Cas trailed his finger along Dean’s forearm, slipped past his wrist, and took his hand, turning it over so Cas could place a feather-light kiss on Dean’s knuckles, returning the gesture from months before.

“Good,” Cas said, his breath warm over Dean’s fingers.  “Do you want Sam or me to do it?”

Dean hesitated a moment before speaking.  “Are you human enough?  Is there any residue leftover from the trials that would make it dangerous for Sam?” he asked.

“Good questions.  I’m sure Sam would like to do it.  He’ll argue for it even if there is potential danger.”

“Do you want to do it?” Dean asked.

Cas brought his head up to meet Dean’s eyes.  “Yes,” Cas said.  “But if you would rather have Sam do it, I will understand.”

“Can you get him so we can talk about it?”

“Of course.”  Cas started toward the door.

“Hey, Cas, wait,” Dean said.  “Why do you want to?”

Cas had his head tilted when he locked gazes with Dean again.  “I cleansed you of the taint of hell once.  Of all the things I have done since I watched the evolution of man from fish, saving you is the only thing I know without doubt was right.  I’ve made a lot of terrible mistakes since then, and I would like to have that certainty again.”

“I’m worth that to you?”

“You’re worth everything to me, Dean.  My place in heaven, an army of angels—”

“Your grace,” Dean interrupted.

“Yes,” Cas agreed.

“Why?” Dean asked.

“You know why,” Cas said.

“Even now?”

“Even now.”

...

“Cas says you want us to cure you,” Sam said, giving Dean a tentative smile.

“I don’t want to be one of the things we hunt, but I was a shitty human.  Maybe I’m better as a demon,” Dean said.

“Do you really believe that?” Sam asked.

“Yeah.  I mean, I still don’t get what you were trying to say about what I did.  I know you were pissed, and you said you wouldn’t have done the same thing.  How that translates to now, dude, I don’t have a clue.”

Sam ran a hand roughly through his hair.  “Look, Dean.  I was never trying to say I wouldn’t try to save you.  I wanted you to think about how fucked up it was to do that when you knew I was ready to die.  I wanted you to think about how fucked up it was to give an angel permission to trick me into saying yes to being possessed after—God, Dean—after being possessed by Lucifer himself when that is the last thing I would ever want!  Do you get that?”

“Yeah, but—”

“I was dying,” Sam finished.  “Yeah, I know, and this is something we really need to talk about because I had a lot of time to think while you were gone.”

“What do you mean?” Dean asked.

“What makes you think you’re responsible for my life when I’m 31 years old,” Sam said.

“You’re my little brother, that’s my job.”

Sam shook his head and picked up his trail along the edge of the devil’s trap, his movements jerky with agitation.

“Yeah, that’s what dad drilled into your head hard enough that you took it to heart when he told you you would have to save me or kill me, that you sold your soul for one year to save my life and went to hell because it was better than letting me die.  I mean, I thought I was smart, but it took me months to figure it out.  I couldn’t understand, but then I remembered Sonny’s place.  I remembered what you said when we were hunting that Shtriga and when you saw the places that might have made up my heaven.  You measure your worth on your ability to save me.  If you can’t, you see yourself as a failure because it’s what’s you’ve done since you were four.  It’s the only thing you knew would make dad proud.  I get that now.  But you don’t have to be that anymore.  I’m not a baby.  We can protect each other and support each other without having to sacrifice everything.  I need a brother, not a savior.

Sam stopped in front of Dean again.

“And if dad was still alive and couldn’t see the kind of man you are--good, strong, kind--then he wouldn’t deserve to know you at all.  But I want to know you, the real you that only sees the light of day when you’re not being my protector.  Can we do that, just be brothers?” Sam asked.

Dean didn’t answer for a long time, but finally he said, “Yeah.  Yeah, that sounds good.”

Sam’s smile had no reservations this time.  “Okay.  How do you want to do this?”

“If Cas is too angel to do the cure, the worst that happens is it doesn’t work.  If you have leftovers from the trials, the worst that happens is you die.  Let Cas try it first,” Dean said.

“Alright,” Sam said.  “We can do that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry this took so long! Student teaching has been wild. I've got one more week left after Thanksgiving break, and I may be getting a permanent position at the same school or at least be subbing long term until Christmas break. It's been a challenge, but I like working with the kids although it is extremely exhausting. Thank you for sticking with me and, as always, you have my gratitude for reading.


	10. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hey, Cas,” Dean said.  
> “Yes?”  
> “What did you call me?”  
> Cas merely shook his head, but Cain spoke up. “He called you his marked one. Do you know what that means?” Cain asked.  
> Dean shrugged. “Something to do with the little problem we used to share?” he suggested.  
> “No,” Cain said. “It means something more possessive to an angel.” He pierced Cas with an impatient glare. “What?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for canon-compliant blasphemy--we're working with an angel who has lost his faith after all. Discussion of hell. Slight possessiveness just in case that's something that really bothers anyone, although Cas doesn't mean it as ownership at all. If you see anything else that ought to be tagged, let me know, and I'll add it.

In the back seat of the Impala, Dean felt something approaching warmth with the protective shell of his first home, his Baby, and the soothing purr of her engine all around him while Cas sat only inches away, silent but reassuring.  Sam was behind the wheel with Cain riding shotgun on the way to an abandoned church they’d grown accustomed to seeing on the way to and from the bunker.

The white paint on the sides of the building was peeling off, revealing grey wood beneath.  Atop one section of the church, a bell tower perched haphazardly, looking ready to collapse at any moment.  As they approached the front of the church, the steps leading up to the door drooped in the middle, warped by age and the elements. Framed by bare trees, the former sanctuary for the faithful fit easily into the sleeping landscape.

Sam busted the rusted lock open in a matter of seconds.  After Sam stepped inside, Dean followed trailed by Cas and Cain in single file.  Sunlight filtered through patches missing in the roof and illuminated particles of dust drifting in the air.  Sam swiped a finger along the back of a pew and clapped the grey smudge off.  Cas sneezed, and everyone turned to look at him until Sam broke the moment.

“Looks like the confessional is to the right over there.  There are some towels in the trunk.  I’ll be right back,” he said.

When Sam returned, he cleared off part of the stage below the altar and one of the pews.  He chucked the dirty towels against the foot of the pew and cleared his throat.  “We’ll be outside.  Come get us when you’re done.”

“Dean and Cain will be able to hear whether or not they are outside.  Besides, the two of you are already privy to my greatest sins,” Cas said.

Sam shrugged.  “Still.  I’m going.  They can come if they want.”

Cain went with Sam, but Dean boosted himself up to sit on the edge of the stage, his elbows resting on his thighs and his eyes fixed steadily on his fiddling fingers.  Cas accepted this wordlessly, and Dean only glanced up when he heard the door of the confessional shut.  He could hear every word:

“Father, I do not know if You hear me or if You care.  What is an angel without faith?  Doubt was my first blasphemy as an angel, although I suppose some of my kind would say we are without sin, but I’m not an angel anymore.  If it is a sin to be grateful that I no longer carry the burden of divinity, I am guilty of it.  I have lived for eons, and we would be here a long time if I listed every one of my shortcomings.  I am a killer and a liar.  I was given orders in Your name to kill the sons of Adam many times, from razing the cities of Sodom and Gomorrah with Uriel to murdering infants in Egypt to ignoring the death toll of the apocalypse.  I have not been allowed to remember all of the missions I participated in, but I beg forgiveness for them all.  More than anything, I am sorry for what I did to defeat Raphael.  I treated life of all kinds with an undeserved callousness and allowed myself to be tempted and corrupted by the influence of a demon.  I murdered and tortured indiscriminately to meet my ends.  I betrayed my friends and my family, and then abandoned them out of arrogance and fear.  Forgive me for every time I ignored the prayers of the best man I have ever known, and please allow me to bring him back to himself.  Above all else, grant me the human grace to save Dean Winchester for he deserves it even if I am lacking.  Father, please.”

Cas stayed in the booth a few more minutes without speaking again.  When he stepped out, he skirted around the outside of the pews to retrieve Sam and Cain.  As the three of them walked up the center aisle toward Dean, Sam handed Cas the leather syringe kit.  Sam and Cain stopped at the first, cleaned pew and sat as Cas continued toward the altar, although his eyes never flicked toward the agonized Christ carved in wood above their heads.  He stopped in front of Dean, well into his intimate space, and brushed his fingers against Dean’s knee.

“Are you ready?” Cas asked.

Dean nodded.  Cas set the kit down by Dean’s thigh, flipped it open, and selected one of the eight syringes inside.  He rolled up his sleeve and clenched his fist to find a vein.  Dean was hyper aware of Cas’s presence, his closeness, the whole time.  It felt odd to have an audience, and he decided to ignore Sam and Cain in the background for the time being.  He noticed how the cuff of Cas’s shirt hugged his bicep and how the stray rays of sun sent the shadows of his eyelashes along his cheeks, but he had himself in check enough to avoid commenting.  Cas drew the syringe’s plunger back slowly.

“Where would it be most comfortable for us to do this?” Cas asked.

Dean inclined his head, offering his throat.  A soft, surprised noise punched out of Cas.

“Okay,” Cas said, quiet enough that they could pretend Sam’s sharp ears and Cain’s demonically enhanced senses could not hear.

He stepped into the part of Dean’s legs and rubbed his thumb against Dean’s neck before pressing the needle to his skin.  Dean caught Cas’s wrist as he began to back away.

“What was it like the first time?” Dean asked, catching Cas’s eyes and holding the gaze.

“The scenery is more pleasant this time,” Cas said.

Dean laughed—a short, bitter note that rang to the rafters.  “I know that’s true,” he said.

“The demons present aren’t fighting me this time.  That’s a plus,” Cas said.  The corner of his lips ticked up.

“That doesn’t answer the question, Cas.”

“I was different then.  I didn’t appreciate things the way I do now.  I didn’t appreciate you the way I do now, but I felt pride for being the first to find you and, though I didn’t know what it was then, elation.  It was an honor to raise the righteous man.  I was relieved to have come to the end of our search too.  Forty years is a long time to endure hell, even for angels, and we were exhausted.  You were the only being who didn’t run before me.  I think you thought I came to kill you because you didn’t fight until we started flying, and you knew that we were leaving the place where you thought you deserved to stay.  If I understood emotions then, I might be able to describe restoring your soul to your body better, but all I can say is that it was pure.  It was everything good about faith and holiness.  For once, I got to do what my superiors told me was God’s work without destroying something.”

“I never did like flying,” Dean joked half-heartedly.  He cleared his throat.  “I, uh, never thanked you for that.”

“Not directly, but I knew,” Cas said.

“Yeah?” Dean asked.

“Yes.  You gave me your faith, your friendship.  You didn’t have to say it,” Cas said, adding a short phrase—a name—in Enochian.

Cas started to step away again, and Dean released his wrist, having forgotten he was holding it.  Cas pushed himself up to sit next to Dean, close enough that their shoulders brushed.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean said.

“Yes?”

“What did you call me?”

Cas merely shook his head, but Cain spoke up. “He called you his marked one.  Do you know what that means?” Cain asked.

Dean shrugged.  “Something to do with the little problem we used to share?” he suggested.

“No,” Cain said.  “It means something more possessive to an angel.”  He pierced Cas with an impatient glare.  “What?”

“There are older marks on your soul, Dean,” Cas said.  “When I raised you, we touched soul to grace without the barriers of flesh or vessel.  That intimacy is a scar on both of us.”  

“You,” Dean said.  “Your handprint.”

Cas inclined his head to confirm Dean's suspicion.

“But it’s gone.”

“Physically perhaps," Cas said, "but my mark is still on your soul.”

“That’s special to you?” Cain asked.

“Yes, it is,” Cas said.

Cain narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing the two of them, and after a moment, his expression shifted into understanding.  “You’re in love with him,” he said.

“Yes,” Cas said, his voice calm and sure.

“That explains a great deal,” Cain said.

…

All together, curing Dean was going quietly and uneventfully.  After the third shot, Dean confessed that it burned a little, though not as bad as he imagined an injection of holy water would feel.  He lost the ability to control when his eyes would go black as the process went on. After the sixth shot, the black dissipated from Dean’s eyes altogether just as Father Thompson had described.

Sam and Cain both stood up from the pew.

“It’s working,” Cain said, his voice verging out of its usual flatness to an emotion Dean couldn’t pinpoint as surprise, excitement, or some combination of both.

“How do you feel?” Sam asked.

“But do you feel human all the way?  Should we do the last two injections?” Sam asked.

“We’re not gonna half-ass this one.  Yeah, we’re doing the rest and the incantation.  The whole nine yards,” Dean said.

“Dean’s right,” Cas said.  “It’s too large a risk to leave any part undone.”

“You’re right,” Sam said, sighing and scrubbing his palm against his cheek.

“It’s only two more hours,” Cas said.

“Yeah,” Sam said.  The fierce gurgling of his stomach punctuated his agreement.  He looked at his watch.  “I guess we forgot to eat.  It’s after three.  Want me to go pick something up, Cas?”

“You can get us all burgers,” Dean said.

“I guess you are feeling better,” Sam said.  He turned to Cain and asked, “Do you want to come or stay?”

“I’ll stay,” Cain said.

“Okay.  I’ll be back in a few,” Sam said.

“Hey, Sam, get Cas some water or Gatorade while you’re out,” Dean said.

“Sure thing,” Sam called over his shoulder.

As the door clicked shut, Cas leaned back against the stage.  Dean’s leg warmed his side.  ”I appreciate your concern for my blood levels,” Cas said.

“You are lowering them for me,” Dean said, nudging Cas with his thigh.

Cas placed his palm atop Dean’s hand, which curled around the edge of the stage in the space between their legs, cautiously.

“I’ve missed you,” Cas said.

If Dean had known what to say, the smile on Cas’s face when he turned to look at him would have stolen the words right from his brain.  Instead, he flipped his hand over underneath Cas’s and twined their fingers together.  

…

Sam strolled back in with a bag in each hand. He set them down on a pew and started to pass out the burgers.  He turned back to the other bag, peeled the plastic down, and lifted out a box gleaming with shrink wrap.

“I also picked these up,” Sam said, revealing a pack of cards, a set of dominoes, and The Game of Life.

“Life, seriously?” Dean asked through a full mouth.                                         

“We can have fake normal lives for a few minutes.  It’ll be funny,” Sam said.

He striped the plastic off the box and dumped the contents on the altar stage between Dean and Cas before hauling himself up to sit with them.

“Help me set it up,” Sam said as he straightened out the board and spread out the pieces.  “Hey, Cain, do you want to play?” Sam asked.

When the three of them looked over for his response, Cain raised an eyebrow and shook his head.  Sam shrugged and went back to sifting through the game pieces.  They all sorted one-handed as they ate, helping each other move the board and snap the pieces into place.

“Why are there so many parts?” Cas asked.

“Because,” Dean said, “Life is complicated.”

…

By the time they finished eating, it was time for another injection.

…

The whir of the spinner faded, and Sam announced that Dean had gotten a ten.

“Do you wanna go to college, Dean?” Sam asked.

“Nah, I can manage without it,” Dean answered, sliding his car along the path.

They’d only just picked their careers when they started the third round with Dean’s turn.

“Oh, you have to get married now,” Sam said.

“That was fast,” Dean said.  “Give me a blue one.  If I have to get married, I wanna marry Cas.”

Sam looked between them.  Dean’s downcast eyes and Cas’s blush made a wolfish grin spread across his face.  “Awww,” Sam said.  “How sweet.”

“Shut up,” Dean said, punching Sam’s arm.

Cas landed on the marriage square during his next turn.

”I want Dean too,” Cas said.

Sam handed him a blue person piece without the teasing.  As the game went on Dean had three kids, Sam published a bestseller, and Cas won a Nobel Peace Prize.  Sam parked his car in Millionaire Estates, and calculated his earnings to be about three thousand dollars more than either Dean or Cas.  When they finished packing the game back in the box, five minutes remained of the final hour.

Sam sat next to Dean on the edge of the stage as Cas paced.

“It’s gonna work, you know,” Dean said.

“I know,” Cas said, continuing his path along the length of the church.

Aside from his footfalls and the hush of breathing, there was silence until Sam’s watch beeped.

“Let’s do this thing,” Dean said.

Cas already had the last syringe in his hand, and he worked deftly, repetition making his hands confident.  He laid the syringe aside and pulled out his angel blade.  Instead of slicing his palm open, he pricked his index and middle fingers, extending them as he usually did when healing and settled them on Dean’s lips.

“Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus. Hanc animam redintegra, lustra.  Lustra,” Cas said softly.

Two dots of blood glistened on Dean’s mouth as Cas pulled his hand away.

“There was no flash of light,” Sam said, worry creeping into his voice.

“Dean was not possessing a vessel,” Cas said.  He turned to Cain.  “Does he look clean?”

“Yes,” Cain said.  “All shiny and new.”

“Good,” Cas said.

He nodded at Sam, silently confirming his belief in Cain’s assessment.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas said.

Dean hooked his fingers in Cas’s belt loops, pulled him close, and pressed his head against Cas’s stomach.  “Hey, Cas,” Dean said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope everyone had a nice holiday season with whatever celebrations you may practice. I think we're nearing the end of this journey. I'm not sure how many chapters are left--one, two, four? We'll have to see.
> 
> Update on 1/9/16: I'm editing a few things from previous chapters, and I'm about 97% finished with the next one. I've sketched an outline for the remainder of the fic, and if nothing goes unexpectedly long, it will conclude with 14 chapters.


	11. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas yawned as Dean drew a domino from the boneyard.
> 
> Dean set his selection down with the rest of his hand but made no move to play or draw again.
> 
> “Hey, Cas,” he said. “I know you’ve been using the room across from mine for a while, but I was thinking that maybe you could keep it, to have your own personal space, but sleep with me in my room. Maybe. If you want.”
> 
> Cas reached across the table to cover Dean’s hand with his own.
> 
> “Sharing a sleeping space is an important step for human couples,” Cas said. “It means something to you.”
> 
> Cas hadn’t asked a question, but Dean heard the uncertainty in his voice. He nodded.
> 
> “As I understand it, the offer is a symbol of commitment,” Cas said. “Is that right?”
> 
> “Yeah,” Dean said. “That about sums it up.”
> 
> Cas squeezed the hand under his palm.
> 
> “Of course I want that with you, Dean,” he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for mentions of Dean/other and Cas/other in a conversation they have before getting intimate. Sexual content: frottage, fingering, and anal sex (with bottom Dean).

“When should we start dinner?” Sam asked.

“Maybe in a couple of hours.  I think I’m gonna hit the hay for a while.  Changing species is apparently exhausting,” Dean said.

“Alright,” Sam said.  “I’ll see what we’ve got left in the freezer.”

As Sam headed off to the kitchen, Dean went toward the dormitory hallway.

“Dean, wait,” Cas said, grabbing Dean’s wrist to slow him.

Dean turned and leaned against the wall next to his door.  Cas followed his momentum, pressing close.

“I want to kiss you,” Cas said.

“Do it.”

“If you’re sure,” Cas said.

“I married you in _Life_.  I’m not sure I could be more sure,” Dean said.

“You were joking,” Cas said.

“Only sort of,” Dean said.  “Shut up and kiss me.”

A smile brightened Dean’s eyes, green as they should be, as Cas tilted his chin up, the corners of his mouth curling upward as well.  Dean angled his head and met Cas halfway, slotting their lips together. Cas’s mouth moved with him sure and eager.  He felt Cas’s hand slide up the back of his neck, his fingers rubbing at Dean’s hairline.  Dean let one of his hand’s drift from Cas’s hips to the small of his back.  Dean didn’t want this kiss to end, but he was human now, they both were, and they needed to breathe.  He drew away just enough to rest his forehead against Cas’s.

“Make sure Sam doesn’t burn down the kitchen for me?” Dean asked.  
  
Cas nodded and stole another kiss.

…

Dean squinted at the shape that had shaken him awake until his brain processed the identity of the person sitting next to him.

“Cas,” Dean said.  “What time is it?”

“You’ve been asleep for a little over two hours,” Cas said.  “Dinner is ready, and I promise that the kitchen is safe.”

“What’d Sam make?” Dean asked.  “Something healthy and gross, I bet.”

“It’s pasta.  It actually looks pretty good,” Cas said.

“We’ll find out,” Dean said as he sat up.

“I think he intends to talk to Cain,” Cas said as he stepped back to give Dean room to stand.

“About what?” Dean asked.

Cas shrugged.  “Everything, I guess.”

…

In the kitchen, Sam had already divvied out portions of his dish and set plates on the table along with a big bowl of salad, which was a mix of romaine lettuce, spinach, and red cabbage topped with diced tomatoes and cucumber he had chopped and tossed himself.  The pasta itself was penne in a creamy alfredo sauce combined with chicken, diced tomatoes and jalapeños, and a bit of cilantro for an extra pop.  He was just setting out a plate of garlic bread as Dean and Cas came in.

“Wow, Sammy, you’ve been holding out on us.  This looks good,” Dean said.

“You haven’t tried it yet, so withhold your judgment,” Sam said.

“Not confident in your skills?” Dean said, teasing.

“It’s been a long time,” Sam said.  “I used to cook a lot with Jess, whenever we got the chance between big tests anyway.”

“Look at this,” Dean said.  “You made garlic bread and everything.”

Dean grabbed a slice of the bread, which was toasted to golden perfection, before anything else and hummed his approval around a full mouth.

When they were all seated, Sam turned to Cain.

“We should probably talk about how we’re related,” Sam said.

“We’re separated by many generations,” Cain said.  “So many that I’m sure you can ignore it, if you’d like to.”

“Sam and Dean take family pretty seriously,” Cas said.

“But we also do right by those who stand by us,” Dean said, “which isn’t always a guarantee of blood.”

“So what I’m about to say to you isn’t something I take lightly,” Sam said.  “I haven’t had the chance to talk to Dean about this, but I’m gonna go out on a limb here to offer you our help.  Being human after so many years as a demon is going to be a challenge.  You don’t have to do it alone if you don’t want to.”

“And what does that entail, exactly?” Cain asked, glancing between the brothers.

“Well, I wanted to wait until we were all together to discuss what I’m thinking,” Sam said.  “But, uh, I thought we might offer you one of our spare rooms if that’s okay with everyone, of course.”

“Shouldn’t we establish whether or not he actually wants to become human before we get into all this other stuff?” Dean asked.

“You weren’t present when we had the conversation,” Cain said.  “I am certain of my decision.  I want to be able to die.”

“Okay,” Dean said.  “You already have a house though.”

“A house that has been compromised,” Cain said.

“Yeah, sorry about that, but what about your, uh, propensity for solitude?” Dean asked.

“If you would prefer I not consider Sam’s suggestion, you can just say so, Dean,” Cain said.  “It won’t hurt my feelings.”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” Dean said.  “The three of us are used to weird company, and to be frank, you’re not that strange.”

Cain laughed.  “The father of murder is not odd enough company for Dean Winchester.  That’s good to know,” he said.  “I don’t know if I want to give up the house.  It’s unlikely that any demons will come looking for me after the treatment their colleagues received, but for that same reason, the good memories I have of that place have been tainted.  I’m not sure it will be good for me to stay there.”

“If you do decide to stay here,” Cas said.  “You will not be alone in your struggles to adapt to human life.”

“You want to be my support system?” Cain asked.

“The Winchesters are good teachers,” Cas said.  “And we are both ancient beings who will have just lost unimaginable power.  We have a strong foundation for understanding.  It would be senseless to waste it.”

“There is wisdom in what you say, angel,” Cain said.

“I’m not an angel anymore,” Cas protested.

“I think you are,” Cain said.  “I think that is our struggle, you and I.  We may become mortal, but you will always be an angel and I will always be a demon.  It has been too long for me.”

“If you take that attitude,” Dean said.  “If Sam thinks that we can help you, I’m willing to give it a try, but you have to be willing to give it all you’ve got too.  Otherwise, none of it matters.”

“That’s surprisingly optimistic of you, Dean,” Cain said.

“Yeah, well,” Dean said.  “I know a thing or two about getting second chances.”

“And we all know a few things about altering destiny,” Cas said.

…

After dinner, Dean and Cas settled at one of the library tables with the box of dominoes.  Only a few rounds after Dean had taught Cas how to play, Cas had gotten a sizeable lead.  Once Cas had wrapped his head around the scoring system, he found it simple to apply strategy to his benefit.  He was a mere fifteen points away from victory when Sam came in.

“Hey,” he greeted.  “I took Cain to pick out a room.  He’s in 25.”

“Cool,” Dean said.  “When are we going to cure him?”

Sam shrugged.  

“I figured we’d worry about that after you’ve had a few days back on team human,” he said.

“That works, I guess, if he’s good with it,” Dean said.

“We were talking and he has some things he needs to take care of that his demon powers will make easier,” Sam said.  “So, it’ll probably be a week at least.”

“What kind of things?” Cas asked.

“He wants to move his beehives here for one thing,” Sam said.

“Cain keeps bees?” Cas asked, sitting up straighter in his seat.

“Yeah, you dork,” Dean said.  “He’s got the whole suit and everything.”

“Dean, bees are--” Cas began.

“Very fascinating creatures,” Dean interrupted.  “I know.  Maybe Cain has an extra suit you can borrow, and the two of you can enthuse about the little, furry honey machines together.”

“I’d like that very much,” Cas said.  “I’ll talk with him about it tomorrow.”

“Alright, well,” Sam said.  “I’m beat.  I’m gonna hit the hay.  I’ll see you two in the morning.  Late morning.  Don’t wake me up before ten.”

“Sure thing, little brother,” Dean said.  “We’re probably not that far behind you.  I mean to head that way as soon as Cas finishes kicking my ass.”

They said their goodnights and turned back to the game.  Dean only had two dominoes he could play, so he picked the one he hoped would cause the least damage.  After a few moments consideration, Cas laid out his next move, earning another ten points.

Cas yawned as Dean drew a domino from the boneyard.  

Dean set his selection down with the rest of his hand but made no move to play or draw again.

“Hey, Cas,” he said.  “I know you’ve been using the room across from mine for a while, but I was thinking that maybe you could keep it, to have your own personal space, but sleep with me in my room.  Maybe.  If you want.”

Cas reached across the table to cover Dean’s hand with his own.

“Sharing a sleeping space is an important step for human couples,” Cas said.  “It means something to you.”

Cas hadn’t asked a question, but Dean heard the uncertainty in his voice.  He nodded.

“As I understand it, the offer is a symbol of commitment,” Cas said.  “Is that right?”

“Yeah,” Dean said.  “That about sums it up.”

Cas squeezed the hand under his palm.

“Of course I want that with you, Dean,” he said.

…

Dean woke up warm and unusually rested.  He peered at the screen of his phone through bleary eyes and saw that it was 8 o’clock in the morning, which meant he’d actually slept through the whole night.  He’d expected to jerk awake while thrashing his way through a nightmare, making Cas’s first night with him trying, but maybe Cas’s presence had been enough to soothe his unconscious mind.

He did feel more pleased than he would admit that Cas had agreed to sharing a bed.  He had long felt too small for his memory foam mattress and had tended to keep to one side, leaving the other empty and waiting for someone.  Cas filled up that space just as perfectly as Dean had always imagined he would.

At that moment, Cas was sprawled out on his stomach with his left leg hitched up and his bare arms curled around his pillow.  His other leg was stretched out on the side closest to Dean, and they were pressed together from hip to thigh to calf.  Those points of contact were nice, Dean thought.  Comforting.   

As Dean lay there thinking, Cas started to stir.  He shifted his left leg back down and stretched.  Dean could feel his muscles flexing where they touched.

Cas groaned softly as he let the tension in his body relax before turning to face Dean.

“Hey,” Dean said.  

The owlish way Cas blinked at him made Dean smile softly.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas said.

Dean wriggled closer to Cas, missing the heat where their limbs had met, and discovered that the day had greeted Cas with morning wood.  He moved his thigh in a teasing circle against Cas’s erection.

“Welcome back to human problems, huh?” Dean remarked.

Cas met his motion with a hum of approval and ground back against him.

“It doesn’t have to be a problem,” Cas said, his voice even rougher than usual.

Cas let more of his weight rest on Dean as he leaned over to kiss him.  Dean met his lips eagerly, and he knew his body was on board with Cas’s suggestion.  It was an effort to pull away.

“Not that this isn’t awesome, but isn’t it a little fast?” Dean asked.

“I don’t care,” Cas said.  “We’ve waited so long, Dean. Can’t we just have this?”

“We can.  If that’s what you want,” Dean said.

“I do want you,” Cas said, stroking his thumb over Dean’s ribs.

“Okay,” Dean said.  He kissed Cas again.  “You sure?”

Cas fixed Dean with a piercing stare.  

“If you’re not ready, you can say so, Dean,” he said.  

“It’s not that,” Dean said.  “It’s just once we do this, we can’t go back.”

“Why is that an issue?” Cas asked.

Dean bit his bottom lip as he thought about how to word what he wanted to say.

“Neither one of us have great histories with sex,” Dean said.  “Ninety-eight percent of my experience is with one-night stands that left me feeling shitty afterward, and the only person you’ve ever been with killed you the morning after.”

“I’m not a one-night stand, am I?” Cas asked.

“Of course not,” Dean said.

“I didn’t think so,” Cas said.  “The aftermath of my first sexual encounter may have been unpleasant, but when I thought I was with a kind, human woman, I enjoyed the experience.  When I was with her, I was alone and scared, and I let my body do what it wanted.  With you, I know what I want and why I want it.  You’re not planning on killing me to get back to heaven tomorrow, are you?”

“No,” Dean said.  

He was fighting a smile and resisting the urge to roll his eyes at the same time.

“Good,” Cas said.  His tone made it clear he considered the matter settled.  “Do you have what we need?”

“Yeah,” Dean said.  “I do.”

Dean shoved the covers down and twisted around to his nightstand to fish out a small, purple bottle.  He slipped the lube under his pillow and rolled back into Cas’s arms.  He draped an arm behind Cas and brought his hand up to tangle in Cas’s hair, dragging his fingertips lightly along Cas’s scalp before tugging the short strands.

A pleased huff of air passed through Cas’s parted lips.  He saw Dean smirk through hooded eyes, and then Dean’s lips were on his pulse point, lavishing a wet kiss against the vulnerable skin there.

Dean trailed his hand from the base of Cas’s skull, along his neck, and down to his chest, where he let his fingers tease over Cas’s pectorals, brushing just enough to raise his nipples to peaks before following Cas’s sides to his hips.  He slid his hand beneath the band of Cas’s boxers and inched them down.

Cas lifted his hips to facilitate the process, and when he had kicked his boxers off his ankles, he pressed Dean back into the bed.  He skimmed his lips over the bolt of Dean’s jaw and left several kisses on Dean’s neck on his way to mouth at the dip between Dean’s collarbones.  Cas grazed his teeth over Dean’s areola and flicked his tongue out to tease his hardening nipple, repeating the process on the other side.

Dean groaned low in his throat and brought his hand up to cradle the back of Cas’s head.

“Is that good?” Cas asked as he sank lower on the bed.

“Yes,” Dean said.

He carded his hand through Cas’s hair once before letting Cas continue his exploration.

Cas kissed the spot below Dean’s belly button where his happy trail began as he tugged at Dean’s boxers, which proved to be a stubborn impediment.  He urged Dean to lift up with a touch.  He drew the waistband down slowly, watching with undisguised want as Dean’s cock sprung up to hover above his stomach.  Cas threw Dean’s boxers on the floor with the pair he had already discarded.

“Come here,” Dean said.

Cas worked a knee between Dean’s thighs and lowered himself until they were pressed flush before burying his face in the crook of Dean’s neck, inhaling the fragrances that mingled into his scent.

Dean ran his hands along the planes of Cas’s back, letting his fingers fall into the divots in Cas’s spine.  He paused to dig his fingers lightly into the fleshy swell of Cas’s ass.

Cas moaned and bucked his hips into Dean’s hands.  Dean pushed down and rolled his hips up to meet him.  They thrust languidly against each other until they were both breathless.  Before his thoughts could turn to the single-mindedness of reaching orgasm, Dean trailed his hands down to squeeze Cas’s hips.

“Wait,” he said.

Cas stilled immediately and sat up on his heels.  He searched Dean’s face for any indication that something was wrong.

“Don’t worry,” Dean said.  “I just want to try something else.”

“Like what?” Cas asked.

Dean responded by swinging his right leg over Cas’s knee and splaying his thighs apart.  He took Cas’s hand and guided it between his legs before settling Cas’s fingers against his hole.  He felt under the pillow for the bottle of lube and handed it to Cas.

“Oh,” Cas breathed.

Cas clicked the cap open and poured the clear gel onto his fingers.  He rubbed his thumb over his index and middle fingers to spread the lube more evenly.  His lips were parted in fascination, and Dean bit his lip to stop from grinning.  It didn’t work.

Cas looked up at Dean and an answering smile spread across his face.  He pressed his shining, wet fingers back between Dean’s legs and traced a trail from his perineum to the dusky whorl of Dean’s rim below.  Cas circled his fingertips over the tight ring of muscle without pressing inside.

“Don’t tease me,” Dean said.

“Why not?” Cas asked.

“Because I asked nicely,” Dean said.

“Oh, well then,” Cas said.  “Forgive me.”  A smirk belied the serious tone he had adopted.

Before Dean could respond, Cas eased his pointer finger inside him.

“Mmm, yes,” Dean said as his head fell back.  “You can give me two.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Cas said.

“You won’t.  I’m plenty turned on,” Dean said.  “I want you.”  

“I want you too, my love,” Cas said.  He kissed the inside of Dean’s thigh.  “But that doesn’t mean I’m going to rush.”

“Not rushing if I’m ready,” Dean said, nudging Cas’s side with his heel.

Cas knocked his head lightly against Dean’s knee in retaliation, but when he removed his finger and pushed inside Dean again, he added a second digit.  He spent more time than necessary scissoring his fingers and brushing against Dean’s prostate incidentally, enjoying the small hitches in Dean’s breath, before crooking his knuckles purposefully to focus on that round, sensitive spot.

Dean groaned and fisted the sheets.  Color rose in his face, accentuating his freckles.  He raised his hips unconsciously, seeking more pressure, but he knew if Cas kept up his current rhythm, they wouldn’t get to the part he was really looking forward to.  He moved one hand to Cas’s hair to draw his attention and coax him upward.

“Get up here,” Dean said, his voice husky.  “Get in me.”

Cas repositioned and pressed the tip of his cock past Dean’s rim.  He met no resistance.  Dean’s inner muscles tightened around Cas’s cock when the full length settled inside him, the fluttering grip pulling inward in welcome.  Cas drew back and set a slow, aching pace.

Dean circled his arms around Cas and rested his hands between Cas’s shoulder blades.  The only space left between them was a small gap between their chests, which allowed them to join their lips and look into one another’s eyes as they shared breath.  They felt every gasp and every word from each other’s mouths across chin and cheeks, but no matter how high their pleasure mounted, neither looked away.

As they rocked together, the flush spread along Dean’s neck and crept to his chest.  His limbs began to tremble as Cas brought him closer to the edge.  When his tipping point came, it surprised him.

“Oh, oh fuck, Cas,” Dean moaned as he started shooting strips of white across his stomach.  “Fuck yes.”

As Dean clenched around him, Cas thrust once more and stilled, spilling inside Dean.  He collapsed onto the pliant body beneath him, indifferent to the wet splattered between them.  Dean rubbed his thumbs in a short path along the small of Cas’s back as they both caught their breath.

"Was that okay?" Cas asked, tucking his head into the crook of Dean's neck.

Dean kissed his hair. "I've never had better," he said.

"You're not just saying that?" Cas asked.

"I mean it. I love you, Cas," Dean said.  “Sex has never been like that for me before.”

“What do you mean?” Cas asked, propping himself up on his elbow.

“I mean, I’ve had a lot of good sex in my life, but I’ve never—I don’t know how to describe it,” Dean said.  He fiddled with seam of the sheet as he hesitated to continue.  “I’ve been in love before, or at least I thought so, but what you make me feel is different.  More.”

“A more profound bond, you might say,” Cas said.

“Yeah, _you_ might,” Dean agreed.

Cas rolled his eyes and laid back down on Dean’s chest.

“I love you too, Dean,” he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sincerely sorry for taking so long to update this. The delay is partially to real life getting in the way and having some writing struggles as well. On the bright side, I do feel like this chapter is now what I wanted it to be, and I hope you enjoy it.
> 
> I've started going through earlier chapters to edit for any missed errors and awkwardness, and I'll continue to do so in the coming weeks. As of now, that shouldn't call for any major changes. If I add anything significant, I'll be sure to make a note of it. I did add an update on my progress to the end note for the last chapter yesterday, and I've already proved myself a liar.
> 
> I do have the rest of this fic planned out, but as I finished rereading everything last night, I realized the time skip I had planned for the next chapter would leave out some scenes that would be unfair to Cain's character development, which means I'm adding another chapter to my outline and bumping our conclusion over to chapter 15.
> 
> Any feedback is lovely, and as always, thanks for reading!


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